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TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


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!A4  12.8 


.5,5  il-^l 

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Photogi'dphic 

Sciences 
Corporation 


33  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEQSTER  N.Y.  14580 

(7J6)  872-4503 


%. 


CIHM/ICMH 

Microfiche 

Series. 


1^ 


CIHM/ICIVIH 
Collection  de 
microfiches. 


Canadian  Institute  for  Historical  Microreproductions  /  Institut  Canadian  de  microreproductions  historiques 


^ 


.^<^ 


fk\ 


1981 


Technical  and  Bibliographic  Notes/Notes  techniques  et  bibliographiques 


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n    Coloured  covers/ 
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□    Covers  damaged/ 
Couverture  endommagee 

□    Covers  restored  and/or  laminated/ 
Couverture  restaur6e  et/ou  pellicul6e 


D 
D 
D 
□ 

n 


D 


Cover  title  missing/ 

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El 


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D 


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D 


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/ 

■•JX 

16X 

20X 

MX 

28X 

32X 

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Les  exemplaires  originaux  dont  la  couverture  en 
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par  le  premier  plat  et  en  terminant  soit  par  la 
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plat,  selon  le  cas.  Tous  les  autres  exemplaires 
originaux  sont  fi!m6s  en  commenqant  par  la 
premidre  page  qui  comporte  une  empreinte 
d'fmpression  ou  d'illustration  et  en  terminant  par 
la  dernidre  page  qui  comporte  une  telle 
empreinte. 

Un  des  symboles  suivants  apparaitra  sur  la 
dernidre  image  de  cheque  microfiche,  selon  le 
cas:  le  symbole  — ►  signifie  "A  SUIVRE",  le 
symbole  V  signifie  "FIN". 

Les  cartes,  planches,  tableaux,  etc.,  peuvent  dtre 
filmds  d  des  taux  de  reduction  diff^rents. 
Lorsque  le  document  est  trop  grand  pour  dtre 
reproduit  en  un  seul  cliche,  il  est  film6  d  partir 
de  Tangle  sup6rieur  gauche,  de  gauche  d  droite, 
et  de  haut  en  bas,  en  prenant  le  nombre 
d'images  ndcessaire.  Les  diagrammes  suivants 
illustrent  la  mdthode. 


1 

2 

3 

4 

S 

6 

IM    I 


^11 


'M 


aNADA 


NATIONAL  LIBRARY 
BIBLIOTHEQUE  NATIONALE 


( 


) ; 


I 


'M 


LOOM    OF    DESTINY 


Arthur    J.   Stringer 


Si 


Boston 
Small,  Maynard  &   Company 

1899 


PsdS3y 


256340 


Copyright,  iSpQ,  by 

Small,  Maynard  &  Company 
(incorporated) 

Entered  at  Stationers'  Hall 


\ 


J 


€\iz  ^nttoersits  Stress 

Cambridgk,  U.  S.  a. 


I  NOTE 

T  AM  indebted  to  the  editor  (j/*  Ainslee's 
Magazine yi?r  the  privilege  of  incor- 
porating in  this  volume  those  stories 
which  originally  appeared  in  that  publi- 
cation under  the  title  of  The  Loom  of 
Destiny. 

A.  J,  S. 


V' 


^n 


4 

t 


CONTENTS 


4 


Pagx 

Premonitions 3 

The  Undoing  of  Dinney  Crockett     .     .  n 

The  Fly  in  the  Ointment %y 

The  Iron  Age 35 

The  King  who  lost  his  Crown      ...  51 

Life's  Loaded  Die .  63 

The  Crucible  of  Character       ....  83 

The  Essentials  of  Aristocracy      .     .     .  103 

The   Honour    of    the    House   o?    Hum- 

MERLEY 117 

Thicker  than  Water 135 

Instruments  of  Eros 157 

An  Essay  in  Equality 169 

The  Heart's  Desire 179 

Not  in  Utter  Nakedness 201 


f 


] 


i 


I 


PREMONITIONS 

Then  all  the  World  seemed  but  a  game, 

A  shadowy  thing  at  Eventide, 
Where  thro*  the  Twilight  children  came. 

And  sowed  and  reaped,  and  lived  and  died. 
Yes,  bought  and  sold  their  lives  away. 

And  when  the  old  Nurse  said  good-night 
Remembered  in  the  Dusk  that  they 

Must  go  to  Bed  without  a  Light, 


ON  the  ragged  skirts  of  the  great  city, 
where  a  steady  stream  of  lorries  and 
electric  cars  rumble  over  the  Canal  Bridge, 
stand  twenty  high-fenced,  grimy  acres  of  coal 
heaps. 

All  day  long,  year  in  and  year  out,  the 
blackened  and  lumbering  coal-carts  ply  back 
and  forth  between  those  high-fenced  acres  of 
bituminous  blackness  and  the  switching  yard 
of  the  railway,  stopping  only  at  the  weigh 
scales  as  they  go. 

As  these  loaded  carts  jolt  o  ,r  the  stony 
road,  a  ragged  band  of  cadaverous  and 
hungry-eyed  urchins,  trailing  behind  them 
ludicrously  improvised  wheeled  things,  follow 
them  like  vultures,  waiting  to  pounce  down 
on  any  loose  chunk  of  coal  that  may  jolt 
unnoticed  from  the  big  cart. 

3 


The  Loom  of  Destiny 

At  times,  when  the  roads  are  not  so  bad 
as  usual,  they  deliberately  fling  mud  and 
stones  at  the  drivers  of  the  carts.  When  the 
drivers  become  angry  at  this,  and  hurl  pieces 
of  coal  at  them,  they  passively  gather  up  the 
pieces  and  put  them  in  their  two-wheeled 
carts.  If  one  of  the  band  chances  to  be  hit, 
thv"?  others  fight  for  the  piece  while  he  limps 
away  unnoticed.  As  they  rush  out,  ankle 
deep  in  mud,  it  is  a  sort  of  standing  joke 
and  a  time-honoured  custom  for  the  big 
drivers  to  cut  at  the  half-bare  legs  of  the 
ragged  youngsters  with  their  great  keen, 
long-lashed  whips. 

The  Child  was  one  of  this  band,  and  he 
stood  in  the  quiet  rain  watching  for  his 
chance.  His  pudgy  face  was  scratched  and 
bore  a  scar  or  two.  He  gazed  out  abstract- 
edly from  the  edge  of  the  broken  side^^alk, 
oblivious  of  the  rain  that  was  soaking  through 
his  tattered  dress.  He  could  not  have  been 
much  more  than  four  years  of  age,  and  cer- 
tainly not  live.  He  had  no  cart,  like  his 
more  opulent  rivals.  But,  clutched  in  his 
chubby  little   dirt-stained   hand,  he   held   a 


Premonitions 

rusty,  dinted-in  tin  pail,  in  the  bottom  of 
this  tin  pail  were  two  or  three  miserable  little 
shreds  of  coal  and  half  a  dozen  wet  chips. 
He  knew  well  enough  that  he  dare  not  go 
home  with  them. 

On  one  foot  he  wore  a  toeless  button 
shoe,  on  the  other  a  man's  rubber  over-shoe, 
tied  at  the  top  with  string.  From  a  hole  in 
this  rubber  shoe  a  small  bare  toe  curled  up 
impertinently.  His  ragged  and  mud-stained 
plaid  skirt  did  not  come  quite  to  his  knees, 
and  his  legs  were  bare,  and  chafed,  and 
scratched.  On  the  skirt,  which  he  wore 
with  supreme  unconcern,  remained  three  quite 
unnecessary  buttons  showing  it  must  once 
have  belonged  to  another  —  probably  some 
departed  or  grown-up  sister.  But  none  of 
all  these  things  seemed  to  trouble  the  Child. 

He  stood  in  the  rain  at  the  roadside,  tran- 
quilly watching  with  wide,  childish  eyes,  the 
more  agile  fuel-hunters  as  they  dodged  in 
and  out,  swallow-like,  among  the  passing 
lorries  and  electric  cars,  in  quest  of  their 
alluring  fragments  of  coal. 

Occasionally  his  baby  eyes  stol^^  furtively 


The  Loom  of  Destiny 

toward  a  deserted  cart,  made  of  a  soap-box 
and  two  wire-bound  perambulator  wheels. 
In  the  cart  lay  several  pieces  of  coal,  many 
of  them   weighing  almost  a  pound. 

Suddenly  the  jubilant  owner  dodged  back 
to  his  cart  with  a  great  piece  of  coal,  almost  the 
size  of  the  Child's  head.  The  possessor  of 
the  tin  pail  eyed  the  cart-owner  with  a  cer- 
tain reverential  awe.  Such  wealth  seemed 
fabulous  to  him.  As  the  coal  king  dropped 
his  precious  burden  into  the  soap-box,  a  man 
driving  past  in  a  yellow  dog-cart  flung  his 
cigar  stub  into  the  neighbouring  gutter.  The 
quick  eye  of  the  coal  king  saw  the  act,  and 
again  he  dived  out  into  the  mud.  He  picked 
up  the  cigar  stub  with  exultant  fingers  and 
carefully  wiped  it  ofF  on  his  trousers. 

Then  he  took  the  one  dirty  match  from 
his  pocket  and  went  behind  a  telegraph  pole 
to  light  up. 

In  the  meantime  the  Child's  gaze  was 
fastened  hungrily  on  the  piece  of  coal  in  the 
soap-box.  A  green  light  came  into  his  won- 
dering baby  eyes.  His  childish  brow  puck- 
ered up  into  a  defiant,  ominous,  anarchistic 


I 


; 


Premonitions 

frown.  With  twitching  fingers  he  crept  step 
by  step  nearer  the  soap-box  and  the  precious 
coal  chunk.  The  owner  of  the  cart  was  still 
struggling  with  his  cigar  stub  behind  the 
telegraph  pole.  The  Child  put  his  hand 
tei.tatively  on  the  soap-box,  and  let  it  rest 
there  a  moment  with  subtle  nonchalance. 
Then  he  leaned  over  it.  In  another  second 
his  baby  fingers  had  closed  like  talons  on  the 
coveted  chunk  of  coal.  Then  he  backed  off, 
cautiously,  slily,  with  his  eyes  ever  on  the 
threatening  telegraph  pole. 

Before  he  could  reach  his  tin  pail  on  the 
sidewalk  the  coal  king  with  the  cigar  stub 
looked  up  and  saw  the  Child  with  the  piece 
of  coal.     And  he  saw  that  it  was  his  coal. 

He  descended  on  the  fleeing  Child  like  a 
whirlwind,  swearing  and  screeching  aii  he 
came. 

The  Child  clutched  the  chunk  of  precious 
wealth  to  his  breast,  and  ran  as  he  had  never 
run  before.  But  it  was  useless.  The  owner 
of  the  cart  caught  him  easily  in  ten  yards. 
He  pushed  the  Child  forward  on  his  face, 
and  kicked  him  two  or  three  times  in  the 

7 


The  Loom  of  Destiny 

stomach.  As  he  went  down  the  Child  still 
hugged  the  piece  of  coal.  The  owner  ot  *he 
stolen  goods  stooped  down,  and  tried  to  force 
it  from  the  little  claw-like  fingers.  They  held 
like  steel.  So  the  owner  of  the  coal  kicked 
the  stubborn  fingers  a  few  times  with  his 
boot.  Bleeding  and  discoloured,  the  baby 
claws  at  last  limply  unclosed  and  straightened 
numbly  out.  The  owner  took  his  coal,  gave 
the  Child  a  good-bye  kick  in  the  stomach, 
and  went  back  to  his  soap-box. 

As  he  passed  the  Child's  tin  pail  he  kicked 
it  vigorously  into  the  road.  Then  only  did 
the  Child  utter  a  sound.  He  groaned  weakly 
and  sat  up  in  the  mud.  He  saw  the  coal 
king  sitting  on  his  soap-box,  luxuriously, 
opulently,  puffing  at  his  cigar  stub.  The 
Child's  heart,  of  a  sudden,  seemed  to  wither 
up  with  an  inexpressible,  ominous,  helpless 
hate ! 


8 


Id  still 
ot  *he 
D  force 
ey  held 
kicked 
ith  his 
;  baby 
htened 
1,  gave 
)mach, 

kicked 
ily  did 
veakly 
e  coal 
lously, 
The 
wither 
^Ipless 


THE   UNDOING  OF   DINNEY 
CROCKETT 

Tho^  they  tykes  us  out  of  our  gutter  ^ome. 
An  scrub  till  our  Udes  is  sore. 

Their ^  stinW  suds  wonU  myke  of  a  bloke 
1^  ot   e  never  was  afore  ! 


4 


( 


*■ 


i  ] 


iia 


DINNEY  was  born  lucky.  No  one 
knew  this  better  than  Dinney  him- 
self, who  was,  in  a  way,  a  sort  of  second 
Dr.  Pangloss. 

And,  look  at  it  from  whatever  standpoint 
you  will,  Dinney  had  many  reasons  to  be 
happy.  In  the  first  place,  he  was  as  free  as 
the  wind,  and  answerable  to  no  one  but  his 
own  elastic  conscience.' 

As  for  his  wordly  wants,  he  had  plenty  to 
eat,  for  he  could  live  sumptuously  on  eight 
cents  a  day.  Four  cents  were  really  enough, 
on  a  pinch,  but  Dinney  found  that  he  most 
always  got  a  stomach-ache  after  a  few  days 
of  four-cent  diet. 

In  the  second  place,  Dinney  was  never 
without  a  place  to  sleep.  In  fact,  he  had 
dozens  of  them.     If  it  chanced  to  be  winter, 


y'>) 


I; 


The  Loom  of  Destiny 

he  slumbered  on  the  comfortable  iron  door 
over  the  hot-air  shaft  of  the  JVorld  building, 
where  the  heat  blew  out  through  the  iron 
grating  in  a  most  delicious  way.  There,  no 
matter  how  cold  it  was,  he  was  as  contented 
and  as  much  at  home  as  the  most  luxuriously 
cotted  child  on  Fifth  Avenue.  And  what 
was  more,  he  was  not  afraid  of  the  dark,  and 
the  night  had  no  terrors  for  him.  Dinney? 
like  all  self-respecting  members  of  the  pro- 
fession, had  an  honest  and  outspoken  con- 
tempt for  fixed  quarters  of  any  sort,  and 
openly  scoffed  at  the  Newsboys*  Home. 
Another  point  to  be  remembered  was  that 
with  sleeping  apartments  at  the  World  build- 
ing, Dinney  was  always  on  hand  for  the 
morning  papers,  which,  as  very  few  in  the 
great  city  ever  guessed,  came  up  long  before 
the  sun  itself. 

In  the  summer,  Dinney  had  the  habit  of 
going  about  and  nosing  out  sleeping-places 
at  his  own  sweet  will.  Often,  it  is  true, 
he  had  to  fight  for  them,  but  that  fact  only 
made  him  enjoy  them  all  the  more. 

So,  since  Dinney  could    sell  as   many  as 

12 


"-t 


I 


The  Undoing  of  Dinney  Crockett 

seventy  papers  of  an  afternoon,  he  envied  no 
one,  shot  his  craps,  tossed  his  pennies,  and 
enjoyed  his  quiet  smoke  with  the  rest  of  "  de 
gang,'*  and  had  no  particular  kick  to  register 
against  the  things  that  were. 

But  continuous  sleepii.g  in  the  open, 
the  perpetual  smoking  of  cigarettes  and  the 
vilest  of  cigar  stubs,  and  the  immoderate  con- 
sumption of  over-ripe  fruit,  stale  sandwiches, 
and  well-larded  doughnuts,  while  perhaps 
pleasant  erough  in  their  way,  do  not  tend 
either  tc  promote  growth  or  to  produce  re- 
markable roundness  of  feature.  And  for  this 
reason  all  men  misunderstood  Dinney. 

Yet  probably  that  was  why  he  was  so  very 
thin.  His  cheeks  were  sunken,  his  eyes  were 
hollow,  and  there  was  a  general  air  of  wist- 
ful hungriness  about  his  woeful  little  face. 
Dinney  knew  this  well  enough  ;  in  fact,  he 
inwardly  rejoiced  over  it,  being  wise  enough 
to  realise  why  he  could  sell  seventy  papers 
while  his  more  prosperous-looking  rivals 
scarcely  got   rid  of  their   paltry  two   dozen. 

Indeed,  it  was  nothing  else  than  this  in- 
tangible soul-hunger  shadowing  Dinney*s  face 

«3 


I    -'t 


^1 


!  s 


r    1 


The  Loom  of  Destiny 

that  one  day  caused  a  certain  sad-eyed  woman 
in  a  carriage  to  stop  at  the  curb  where  Dinney 
was  selling  his  papers,  and  blushingly  thrust  a 
quarter  into  his  black  and  dirty  hand. 

Dinney's  heart  turned  on  its  electrics  at 
that.  Such  things  meant  something  to  him, 
for  he  was  always  too  proud  to  beg,  though 
not  to  steal.  His  big  eyes  lighted  up  in  a 
truly  marvellous  way,  and  he,  carried  for  a 
moment  off  his  guard,  grinned  his  genuine 
gratefulness. 

That  made  the  sad-eyed  woman  in  the 
carriage  turn  to  her  husband  and  say  : 

"  Did  you  notice,  George  ?  He  has  really 
a  bee-yew-tiful  face  !  " 

They  had  been  watching  him  for  weeks. 

"Yes,  I  suppose  so,"  answered  the  man, 
with  feigned  disinterestedness,  "  if  he  M  only 
wash  it  now  and  then." 

"  Do  you  know,  George,  as  I  pass  him 
I  often  think  he  —  he  looks  like  poor  little 
Albert." 

The  man  called  George  had  thought  so, 
too,  but  did  not  say  so.  Instead,  he  looked 
up  at  the  roofs  of  the  buildings,  for  Albert 


I 


The  Undoing  of  Dinney  Crockett 

had  been  their  only  child,  had  died  but  a  year 
before,  and  neither  of  them  could  quite  forget 
it,  as  sometimes  happens  in  this  world. 

Dinney  did  not  forget  that  carriage,  and  it 
must  be  confessed  that  he  made  it  a  point  to 
assume  a  most  ridiculous  and  priggish  expres- 
sion of  dejected  meekness  whenever  it  passed. 
He  knew  it  would  not  make  the  sad-eyed 
woman  any  happier  to  feel  that  he  had  shot 
craps  with  every  cent  of  her  quarter  ! 

But  as  time  went  on  these  little  gifts  grew 
more  and  more  frequent,  and,  if  kept  up, 
would  have  been  the  ruin  of  the  best  news- 
boy in  the  Ward.  The  outcome  of  it  all  was 
that  the  sad-eyed  woman  came  one  day  and 
drove  off  with  Dinney  in  her  carriage. 

"  George,  do  you  know,  I  believe  that 
child  has  consumption,"  she  explained  to  her 
husband,  who  was  really  not  a  bit  astonished 
at  her  act,  "  and  I  've  brought  him  home,  and 
I  'm  going  to  nurse  him  up  for  a  while  ! " 

George  kissed  her  and  called  her  a  silly 
little  woman,  and  said  he  supposed  he  M  have 
to  let  her  have  her  own  way.  It  was  very 
lonely  in  that  big  house. 

IS 


I'        !      . 


The  Loom  of  Destiny 

In  fact,  it  was  George  himself  who  led 
Dinney  up  to  the  bathroom,  showed  him  how 
to  turn  on  the  hot  water,  and  significantly 
advised  him  not  to  be  afraid  of  wasting  the 
soap.  In  some  unaccountable  way  George 
found  it  very  pleasant  to  talk  to  a  child 
again,  and  answer  questions,  and  explain 
what  everything  was  for.  When  he  went 
downstairs  he  mildly  and  tentatively  suggested 
that  Dinney  be  taken  out  to  their  country 
house  with  them.  He  also  determined,  in 
his  own  mind,  to  see  about  buying  Dinney  a 
box  of  tools. 

As  for  Dinney  himself,  that  strange  bath- 
room, with  all  its  pipes  and  taps  and  shower 
controller  and  enamel  tub,  was  a  wonder  and 
delight.  For  the  fact  must  be  confessed,  it 
was  Dinney*s  first  premeditated  bath. 

He  overflowed  the  bath  tub,  spotted  the 
woodwork  with  soap  suds,  unscrewed  one  of 
the  taps  for  investigative  purposes,  and  had  a 
most  delightful  time  of  it. 

When  a  big,  clean-shaven,  stately-looking 
man  in  a  bottle  green  suit  with  brass  buttons 
stepped  in,  Dinney's  heart  jumped  into  his 

i6 


The  Undoing  of  Dinney  Crockett 

mouth,  as  he  thought  for  a  moment  that  it 
was  a  policeman.  It  was  only  the  butler 
with  a  new  suit  of  clothes  for  him.  Dinney 
eyed  them  with  some  curiosity,  for  it  was  his 
first  acquisition  of  such  a  character.  He 
ordered  the  butler  to  put  them  down  on  the 
towel  rack,  and  did  it  in  a  tone  of  authority 
which  the  butler  somewhat  resented.  Din- 
ney's  heart  sank,  however,  when  the  man  with 
the  brass  buttons, "  at  master's  orders,"  carried 
away  his  ragged  bat  beloved  old  suit,  to  be  in- 
cinerated down  in  the  furnace  room.  Before 
carrying  out  those  orders,  the  butler  viewed 
Dinney's  tattered  raiment  with  unconcealed 
disgust.  He  approached  the  bundle  suspi- 
ciously, and  carried  it  at  arm's  length,  signifi- 
cantly holding  his  nose  as  he  departed. 

Dinney  was  quick  to  see  the  intended  in- 
sult. A  cake  of  wet  soap  hit  the  man  with 
the  brass  buttons,  hit  him  squarely  on  the 
back  of  the  neck.  The  soap  was  followed  by 
a  volley  of  blasphemy  that  was,  as  the  butler 
afterwards  told  the  chambermaid,  "  fairly 
heart-renderin'  and  too  awful  for  respectable 
people  to  talk  on  !  " 
2  17 


1/ 


The  Loom  of  Destiny 

When  Dinney  was  led  downstairs  he  was 
a  very  changed  boy  —  that  is,  of  course, 
changed  in  appearance.  His  sandy  little  crop 
of  hair  was  on  end,  his  fac;  was  shiny  with 
much  rubbing,  and  for  the  first  time  in  his- 
tory his  person  was  odorous  of  toilet  soap. 
What  troubled  him  most  was  that  his  nev/ 
pants  were  very  prickly. 

They  were  patiently  waiting  for  him,  and 
the  sad-eyed  woman  took  him  on  her  knee  and 
wept  over  him  for  a  while.  Dinney  neither 
enjoyed  nor  understood  that,  but  with  him  it 
was  a  law  to  look  meek  when  in  doubt.  Yet 
he  felt  an  indefinite  unrest  and  restraint  ':hat 
was  even  more  painful  than  the  prickly  tor- 
ture of  his  new  pants. 

The  sad-eyed  woman  took  it  for  illness 
(Dinney  was  as  tough  as  a  pine  knot !)  and 
wept  over  him  once  more  and  asked  how  he 
would  like  to  be  her  boy,  her  very  own  little 
boy  for  all  the  rest  of  his  life. 

That  was  a  question  Dinney  had  not 
thought  over.  But  at  that  momert  he  heard 
the  rattle  of  the  dinner  dishes  and  caught  a 
whifF  of  the  consomme  being  brought  in,  so 

i8 


% 


The  Undoing  of  Dinney  Crockett 

he,  being  very  much  in  doubt,  looked  meeker 
than  ever.  He  next  noticed  a  silver  dish  on 
the  sideboard  piled  high  v^^ith  big  oranges. 
The  oranges  settled  the  matter.  He  was 
hers  —  hers  for  all  time. 

But  he  wriggled  away,  because  he  did  not 
like  being  hugged.  Such  things  were  strange 
to  him,  he  had  never  been  taught  to  look  for 
them,  and  his  heart  had  never  hungered  for 
them.  But  he  kept  his  eye  on  the  dish  of 
oranges.  During  all  this  George  coughed 
once  or  twice,  and  said  Dinney  had  the  mak- 
ing of  a  fine  boy  in  him,  a  very  fine  boy 
indeed ! 

So  Dinney,  who  had  beheld  nothing  but 
brick  and  stone  all  his  life,  was  carried  away 
into  the  country.  Never  before  had  he  seen 
hot  corn,  the  same  as  the  Italians  sold  on  the 
street  corners,  growing  on  long  stalks.  Nor 
had  he  ever  before  seen  apples  hanging  on 
trees,  or  acres  and  acres  of  green  grass,  or 
flowers,  millions  and  millions  of  flowers,  all 
growing  wild  on  the  ground,  like  a  lot  of 
cobble-stones.  It  filled  him  with  a  silent 
wonder, 

19 


l<  I 


i/i 


•V 


i 


The  Loom  of  Destiny 

The  little,  sad-eyed  woman  and  George 
talked  over  Dinney*s  future,  and  planned  out 
his  life  for  him,  and  nudged  each  other  and 
nodded  their  heads  significantly  at  each  little 
sign  from  the  child  as  he  gazed  out  wide- 
eyed  on  a  new  world. 

But  at  the  end  of  the  first  day  on  the  farm 
a  change  crept  over  Dinney.  He  did  not 
romp  laughing-eyed  across  the  fields,  nor  did 
he  gather  hands  full  of  flowers,  as  they  had 
expected,  or  sit  listening  to  the  birds  singing 
in  the  trees. 

He  hung  disconsolately  about  the  stables, 
with  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  asking  the 
coachman  endless  questions  about  the  polish- 
ing of  harness  and  the  breeding  of  horses. 
He  caught  and  made  captive  a  stray  collie 
pup,  and  shut  it  up  in  one  of  the  empty  oat 
bins,  and  then  chased  the  ducks  for  one  busy 
hour.  When  stopped  at  this  by  the  gardener, 
he  fell  out  of  an  apple-tree  or  two,  and  then, 
wrapped  in  sudden  thought,  wondered  what 
Gripsey  was  doing  at  home  just  at  that 
moment.  Then  he  fell  to  ruminating  as  to 
whether  or  not  the  evening  papers  were  out, 

20 


The  Undoing  of  Dinney  Crockett 

and  wistfully  told  the  man  called  George  all 
about  "  de  gang,"  and  the  lives  they  lived 
and  the  things  they  did. 

Then,  being  unable  to  fathom  his  indefinite 
and  unknown  unhappiness,  he  wailed  aloud 
that  he  was  hungry.  The  sad-eyed  woman 
fed  him  until  she  feared  he  would  burst,  and 
said  the  air  was  doing  him  a  world  of  good. 
Dinney  had  been  used  to  eating  whenever  the 
spirit  moved  him,  and  it  seemed  to  him  a 
ridiculous  custom  to  sit  down  and  devour 
things  at  stated  times,  whether  you  were 
hungry  or  not. 

But  after  his  meal  his  melancholy  returned 
to  him.  What  with  the  prickliness  of  his 
new  clothes  and  his  secret  desire  to  indulge 
in  a  quiet  smoke,  he  suffered  untold  agonies. 

In  his  loneliness  and  misery  he  disappeared 
stableward,  and  was  not  seen  again  until 
dinner-time. 

The  poor  little  sad-eyed  woman  was  wor- 
ried to  distraction  about  him.  When  he 
shambled  back  to  the  house  she  called  him 
over  to  her  and  took  him  up  on  her  knee,  and 
petted    him    as   few  mothers  pet  even   their 

ax 


rr 


I     *. 


■|    1 


.^11 


The  Loom  of  Destiny 

own  son.  But  it  was  all  lost  on  Dinney.  He 
squirmed  and  was  unhappy. 

"  What  is  it,  dear  ?  Are  you  not  well  ?  " 
she  asked,  with  a  real  and  beautiful  tender- 
ness.    Dinney  was  silent. 

"  Are  you  not  happy  here,  dear  ?  "  the 
little  woman  asked  once  more,  putting  all  the 
pent-up  love  of  her  childless  life  in  one 
mother's  kiss  on  the  boy's  flushed  forehead. 

It  was  too  much  !  Dinney  broke  loose 
and  sprang  away  like  a  young  tiger. 

"  Gordammit !  lee'  me  alone ! "  he  screamed ; 
*'  lee'  me  alone  !  "  His  face  was  contorted 
with  a  sort  of  blind  fury.  "  I  'm  sick  of  all 
dis  muggin',  an'  dis  place,  an  —  an  evcry- 
t'ing  else,  and  I  want  to  go  home,  see !  I 
want  to  go  home  —  I  want  to  go  home !  " 

He  wailed  it  out,  over  and  over  again,  and 
the  tears  streamed  down  his  face. 

"  But  —  but,  Dinney,  are  n't  you  happy 
here  ? " 

"  No,  I  ain't,"  almost  shrieked  the  child, 
in  a  passion  of  homesickness,  "  an'  I  'm  tired 
o'  dis  bloody  place,  an'  I  want  to  go  home  — 
I  want  to  go  home  !  " 

23 


The  Undoing  of  Dinney  Crockett 

To  his  lifelong  shame,  Dinney  broke 
down  and  bawled  like  any  baby  in  arms. 

The  childless  mother  covered  her  eyes 
with  her  handkerchief  and  wept  sile  tly. 
The  man  called  George  walked  nervously  up 
and  down  the  room,  and  then  looked  absjntly 
out  over  the  fields  of  ripening  wheat,  golden 
in  the  sunlight  of  the  late  afternoon. 

There  was  silence  for  several  minutes, 
and  then  the  man  said,  and  it  seemed  almost 
resignedly  : 

"  Very  well,  Dinney,  if  you  really  want 
to,  I  '11  take  you  back  to  the  city  with  me  in 
the  morning." 

Could  it  have  been  a  sob  that  choked  his 
voice  ?  Dinney  neither  knew  nor  cared. 
He  wiped  his  eyes  and  seemed  to  smell  once 
more  the  smell  of  the  crowded  city  street, 
and  to  hear  the  music  of  a  thousand  hurrying 
wheels. 


2$ 


^^ 


w 


I 


\ 


me&iLastta!au:i-b.f!! 


THE   FLY  IN  THE   OINTMENT 

They  seen  as  we  was  gutter  scum. 

An"  they  said  as  we  was  bad; 
An'  they  knowed  th^  soul  of  a  gutter  snipe 

Was  th*  on*y  soul  we  *ad! 


H 


i 


HE  was  by  no  means  the  worst  boy  in 
the  ward,  though  the  charge  was 
often  flung  at  him.  Really  bad  boys  lived 
all  about  him,  but  their  ways  were  not  his 
ways. 

Such  being  so,  there  was  great  rejoicing 
and  glee  when  he  fell.  It  all  came  about  by 
the  merest  accident.  He  had  learned  his 
Golden  Text  by  heart,  had  his  penny  for  col- 
lection in  his  pocket,  and  his  Sunday-school 
lesson,  about  Joseph,  at  his  finger  tips.  And 
it  might  never  have  happened  but  that  at  the 
corner  of  the  street  his  quick  ears  caught  a 
whifF  of  band  music. 

He  stopped  and  listen,ed.  Yes,  it  was 
most  unmistakably  a  band  —  no,  two,  three, 
four  of  them,  all  playing  at  once.  The  sul- 
len, heavy  Sunday-school  look  went  out  of 

27 


- 


J    f 


I; 


1 1 
'  1 


'>  \ 


I 


I 


The  Loom  of  Destiny 

the  boy's  face.  He  forgot  the  discomfort  of 
his  Sunday  clothes.  It  must  be  the  soldiers 
on  church  parade  !  Then  the  sound  grew 
like  the  voice  of  a  thousand  sirens  singing 
in  his  ears. 

Still  he  faltered.  He  remembered  the 
Sunday-school  collection,  and  his  story  of 
Joseph,  and  the  cold,  green  eyes,  haunting 
and  relentless,  that  watched  him  each  morn- 
ing to  see  that  he  did  not  take  more  than  his 
share  of  porridge.  He  was  dreadfully  afraid 
of  those  cold,  green  eyes.  But  the  fates  were 
against  Duncan  Stewart  McDougall. 

At  that  moment  a  new  sound  fell  on  his 
childish  ears.  It  was  the  unfamiliar  note  of 
bagpipes,  the  mingled  chant  and  drone  of  the 
band  of  Highland  pipers.  At  that  moment 
it  was  not  the  smell  of  the  crowded  slums 
that  stole  into  his  little  Scottish  nostrils.  It 
was  heather  —  the  scent  of  heather,  remem- 
bered as  a  dream  of  years  ago. 

The  sound  awoke  something  dormant,  an- 
cestral, unconquerable,  in  his  McDougall 
veins.  Then  it  was  he  remembered  watch- 
ing Sandy  McPherson,  the  Holland's  coach- 

28 


The  Fly  in  the  Ointment 

man,  pipe-clay  his  leggings  while  he  talked  of 
the  "  Chur-r-rch  Par-r-ade  a'  Sabbath  week." 
But  still  he  faltered.  He  could  not  get 
the  thought  of  those  green  eyes  out  of  his 
mind.  Then,  all  of  a  sudden,  far  up  the 
street,  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  bonnets  and 
kilts.  Bonnets  and  kilts !  And  Scotland 
half  a  world  away  !  It  was  a  sight  for  sore 
eyes,  if  those  same  eyes  had  once  seen  the 
hills  and  valleys  of  the  Highlands.  After 
one  furtive  glance  down  his  own  little  street, 
the  carefully  folded  lesson  leaf  was  flung  into 
the  gutter,  and  he  was  piking  up  the  avenue 
as  fast  as  his  thin  legs  could  carry  him.  He 
headed  them  off  in  six  blocks,  and  fell  in, 
panting  and  perspiring,  with  the  Victoria 
Rifles  Band.  One  or  two  of  the  soldiers 
kicked  him  surreptitiously,  but  he  did  not 
even  know  it.  He  was  following  the  band  ! 
The  blood  that  throbbed  through  his  thin  legs 
had  never  run  so  fast.  He  was  drunk,  dead 
drunk,  with  the  music.  Thrills  went  cours- 
ing up  and  down  his  backbone,  and  he 
seemed  to  be  walking  on  air.  How  or  why 
it  was  he  could  not  understand  -,  but  on  and 

29 


.^>l 


The  Loom  of  Destiny 

on  he  went.  For  seven  enchanted  miles  he 
stuck  to  his  band.  His  one  sorrow  was  that 
his  short  legs  could  not  keep  in  time  with  the 
music.  But  he  could  nearly  almost  do  it, 
and  by  a  sort  of  dot  and  carry  one,  he  made 
a  rhythm  of  his  own  in  the  marches.  He 
pulled  his  peaked,  puny  little  stooped  shoul- 
ders back,  and  thrust  out  his  narrow  chest. 
He  all  but  burst  the  one  button  from  his 
threadbare  coat  with  its  neat  patches  at  the 
elbows. 

And  all  the  while  he  marched,  hobbled, 
stumbled  on,  drinking  in  the  martial  sound. 
An  occasional  policeman  would  try  to  kick 
him  away,  but  he  dodged  in  between  the 
lines,  where  the  soldiers  came  to  look  upon 
him  as  a  joke.  They  poked  him  in  the  ribs 
with  their  white-gloved  fists,  in  brutal  good 
nature,  but  he  did  net  feel  it.  He  followed 
on  ecstatically,  with  his  stern  little  freckled 
Scottish  face  and  his  puckered-out  chest,  caus- 
ing many  i  smile  along  the  line  of  march. 

That  day  he  was  not  afraid  to  face  the 
biggest  policeman  on  the  force.  By  this  time 
there  were  big  water   blisters  on  his  heels, 

30 


f' 


The  Fly  in  the  Ointment 

and  one  stocking  was  hanging  down.  But 
that  military  band  was  all  he  f^aw  or  heard 
When  he  got  big  like  Sandy  McPherson  he 
was  going  to  be  a  soldier.  He  was  going  to 
bayonet  Indians  and  cannonade  cities,  and 
shoot  people  dead,  right  through  their  stomach 
and  insides,  and  save  the  general's  life  at  the 
end  of  the  battle,  and  get  sixteen  gold  medals, 
and  then  — 

But  the  boy,  of  a  sudden,  started,  paled, 
and  wilted.  The  music  withered  out,  the 
soldiers  faded.  The  gleam  left  his  eye,  and 
the  martial  poise  ebbed  from  his  fallen 
shoulders.  Peering  at  him  from  the  curb,  he 
saw  a  pair  of  cold,  green,  relentless  eyes  ! 
The  glory  and  the  dream  were  gone  ! 

At  the  next  street  he  fell  away  from  the 
lines,  cut  across  five  sid^  streets,  hobbled 
home,  and  waited  for  the  green  eyes  to  come 
back.  After  that,  he  knew  what  would  hap- 
pen. The  green  eyes  came.  When  the 
flogging  was  over  he  went  up  to  bed  without 
supper.  He  did  n't  care  very  much  if  it 
really  was  true  that  he  was  going  to  be  a 
bad  man  and  a  drunkard  as  his   father  had 

31 


! 


n 


' ) 


The  Loom  of  Destiny 

been.  He  supposed  the  green  eyes  ought  to 
know.  But  before  he  fell  asleep  he  showed 
the  Baby,  with  the  broom  handle,  how  to 
bayonet  Indians;  whereat  the  Baby  bawled, 
and  she  of  the  green  eyes  called  up  the  little 
stairway.  Trembling,  the  boy  crept  into 
bed.     He  felt  sore  all  over. 

Very  late  that  night  he  heard  the  green 
eyes  come  in  and  take  the  penny  from  his 
porket.  She  held  the  lamp  to  his  face,  but 
his  eyes  remained  shut.  Yet  he  felt  those 
green  eyes  burning  into  him  and  withering 
his  soul. 


i* 


!-mf^ 


THE  IRON  AGE 

T/^ey  *ad  a  pry  er  for  our  *  eat  hen  ^earts 
As  they  washed  us  down  with  suds. 

An*  thort  as  we  *  ad  a  bran*  new  soul 

W*en  they  V  burnt  our  *  Ounds- Ditch  duds. 


s 


LV#__J** 


PEGGY  was  certainly  a  tomboy.  She 
openly  scoffed  at  "  The  Pansy  Stories  " 
and  «  Little  Wives  "  and  "  The  Wide,  Wide 
World,"  but  strange  to  say,  devoured  all  such 
books  as  "  The  Boys'  Own  Annual,"  "  Dead- 
wood  Dick,"  "  The  Headless  Horseman  ;  or 
The  Terror  of  Tamaraska  Gulch,"  and  any 
literature  on  Indians,  dire  adventure,  and 
bloodshed  which  came  into  her  hands. 

And  many  tears  were  shed  over  poor  Miss 
Peggy,  and  many  were  the  solemn  and  sup- 
posedly impressive  lectures  read  to  her.  But 
for  all  those  lectures  she  continued  to  slide 
down  the  banisters,  and  openly  whistle  before 
company.  In  fact  Miss  Peggy  did  not  ap- 
prove of  company,  and  was  never  happier 
than  when  staring  the  rector's  nervous  wife 
out  of  countenance. 

35 


■  wttr,  ■■nrgaasa— Mil 


L') 


The  Loom  of  Destiny 

Peggy  took  an  unholy  delight  in  tumbling 
on  the  hay  in  the  stables,  though  Hawkins, 
the  coachman,  always  was  at  pains  to  point 
out  to  her  that  'orses  could  never  heat  'ay  as 
was  trampled  on,  and  artfully,  but  uselessly, 
insinuated  that  a  species  of  horrible  green 
snake  abounded  in  the  mows. 

She  killed  mice  and  toads  without  a  jot  of 
f  ^*.  and  could  whittle  with  a  jack-knife  like  a 
bo)  When  she  cut  her  finger  she  tore  a 
piece  from  the  hem  of  her  petticoat,  bound 
up  the  wound,  and  went  on  with  her  work. 
She  had  climbed  every  tree  in  the  garden,  as 
one  might  easily  know  from  the  tell-tale  holes 
always  in  her  stockings.  She  also  had  a  pas- 
sion for  scaling  the  grapevine  arbour,  against 
orders,  because  from  the  top  she  could  look 
down  into  the  next  yard  and  make  faces  at 
the  old  gardener  there,  who  was  under  dark 
suspicion  of  having  poisoned  a  Shanghai 
rooster  that  had  been  Peggy's  dearly  beloved 
pet  for  one  happy  year. 

Teddie,  or  rather  Master  Edward  Branbury 
Bronson,  who  lived  two  doors  distant,  was 
her  bosom   friend  and  confidant,  and   poor 

36 


The  Iron  Age 

Teddle  it  was  she  slapped,  and  bullied,  and 
berated,  and  ordered  about  in  a  way  that  was 
wonderful  to  behold.  But  Teddie's  mother 
was  warned  by  kindly  and  interested  neigh- 
bours that  the  little  boy  ought  not  to  come  in 
contact  with  such  a  wild  and  unruly  child  as 
Peggy.  So  she  straightway  forbade  the  weep- 
ing and  broken-hearted  Teddie  to  speak  to 
his  old  playmate,  whose  parents,  she  sighed, 
had  utterly  ruined  the  poor  child's  character. 

But  Peggy  made  a  telephone  of  a  ball  of 
waxed  string  and  two  tomato  tins,  and  after 
much  climbing  of  walls  and  fences  and  ruin- 
ing of  skirts,  it  was  duly  stretched  from  gar- 
den to  garden. 

Over  this  telephone  the  parted  lovers  regis- 
tered vows  of  constancy  and  carried  on  the 
most  delightful  and  absorbing  conversations. 
And  Teddie  might  never  have  felt  his  exile 
had  not  the  old  gardener  in  the  intervening 
yard  discovered  the  string  and  innocently 
made  use  of  it  for  tying  up  his  currant 
bushes.  For  this  unpardonable  act  the  old 
gardener  was  accosted  daily  and  vindictively 
with  mysterious  and  unaccountable  volleys  of 

37 


fC 


■^!^^ 


SSBB 


t% 


l'; 

4i 


I 


I 


ir 


The  Loom  of  Destiny 

stones  from  one  side  of  the  garden  and  green 
apples  from  the  other.  The  stones,  of 
course,  came  from  Peggy's  side.  Miss 
Peggy  never  believed  in  doing  things  by 
halves. 

Then  followed  three  weeks  of  terrible  lone- 
liness, which  might  have  ended  either  tragic- 
ally or  in  an  out-and-out  elopement,  had  not 
the  unstable  Peggy  purchased  a  brindled  street 
pup  for  eight  pennies,  three  silver  spoons 
carried  away  from  the  table  for  purposes  of 
exchange  in  general,  and  the  gardener's 
wheelbarrow,  whose  disappearance,  by  the 
way,  Hawkins  could  never  account  for. 

But  the  brindled  pup  was  currish  and  cow- 
ardly and  mongrel  to  the  backbone,  and  after 
being  overfed  and  kicked  and  scuffed  and 
dragged  reluctantly  about  by  Peggy  for  one 
week,  he  made  his  timely  escape  and  was 
seen  no  more. 

Then  Peggy  fell  on  evil  days,  and  every- 
thing in  some  way  went  wrong  with  her.  If 
she  was  locked  up  in  the  Blue  Room  she  drew 
figures  on  the  wall  paper,  and  if  she  was  sent 
to  bed  without  dinner  —  for  Peggy  dined  at 

38 


The  Iron  Age 

night  —  she  would  groan  so  loudly  and  so 
eloquently  with  stomach-aches  that  her  father 
would  end  up  by  bringing  her  a  load  of  good 
things,  for  which  she  would  fall  on  his  neck 
and  kiss  him  a  dozen  times  under  his  prickly 
old  moustache  and  make  him  sit  down  on  the 
bed  and  tell  her  about  Custer's  Last  Stand, 
while  she  devoured  the  last  bite  and  shook 
the  crumbs  out  of  the  sheets  and  turned  over 
and  went  to  sleep  quite  contented  and  quite 
unpunished.  More  than  once,  therefore, 
poor  Peggy's  mamma  wept  long  and  bitterly 
at  her  child's  unregenerate  ways,  while  Peg- 
gy's father  admitted  she  was  a  little  she- 
devil,  and  ought  to  be  shut  up  in  a  convent, 
or  sent  somewhere.  Just  where  he  did  not 
know. 

So  when  Peggy's  Aunt  Frances  came  to 
their  house  for  a  month  or  two  she  was 
looked  upon  as  the  god  from  the  machine  in 
the  destiny  of  Peggy.  Frances  was  just  out 
of  her  teens,  true  as  steel,  and  the  one  being 
whom  Peggy  looked  up  to  in  awe.  This 
was,  as  she  frankly  admitted  to  AH  Baba, 
because  her  Aunt  Frankie  was  beautiful,  like 

39 


U    i    , 


<       1 

I 


?     n. 


I 

I, 


The  Loom  of  Destiny 

the  angels  in  the  church  windows  that  always 
filled  her  with  a  mysterious  veneration,  and 
also  because  her  Aunt  Frankie  liked  AH 
Baba.  Ali  Baba  he  had  always  been  called, 
ever  since  he  told  Peggy  the  stories  of  the 
Forty  Thieves,  though  his  right  name  was 
Dr.  Thomas  Etherington,  which  did  n*t 
count  with   Peggy. 

Now,  Ali  Baba  had  been  wise  in  his  gen- 
eration and  had  realised  that  he  must  have 
Peggy  as  his  friend  at  court. 

When  candies  and  boxes  of  flowers  came 
to  the  house  they  were  always  for  Miss 
Peggy.  The  .':andies  she  gorged  herself 
upon,  and  the  flowers  she  flung  away,  not 
knowing  they  were  afterwards  surreptitiously 
gathered  up  by  her  Aunt  Frankie,  for  reasons 
poor  little  Peggy  could  never  know  and  per- 
haps never  understand. 

To  make  sure  of  such  a  powerful  ally,  Ali 
Baba  made  open  and  uninterrupted  love  to 
Peggy,  who  in  return  daily  soiled  his  collars, 
rumpled  up  his  hair,  went  through  his  pock- 
ets, climbed  on  his  shoulders,  and  in  time 
even  forgot  to  think  of  her  long-lost  Teddie, 

40 


time 
eddie. 


The  Iron  Age 

The  woman  who  secretly  treasured  Ali 
Baba's  flowers  was  a  wise  little  lady,  and 
understood,  of  course,  and  said  nothing. 

But  as  time  went  on,  one  fine  day  she  and 
her  Ali  Baba  fell  out,  as  all  young  people 
will.  Peggy  may  or  may  not  have  been  at 
the  bottom  of  it,  for  the  working  of  a  wo- 
man's heart  is  an  inscrutable  mystery  to 
man. 

"  Good-night  —  and  good-bye,"  cried  Ali 
Baba's  sweetheart  imperiously,  through  her 
tears.  "  I  can  —  I  can  never  see  you  again. 
Hereafter,"  with  a  pitiful  little  gulp,  "  here- 
after our  paths  must  part.  And  if  you  call 
I  shall  not  be  in  —  tnere  !  " 

"  Very  well,  dear,  if  you  're  bound  to  be 
silly,"  said  Ali  Baba,  cheerily.  "  But  I  'm 
coming  up  to  play  with  Peggy  every  day. 
Now  if  I  loved  you,  Peggy,  you  would  n't 
throw  me  over,  would  you,  little  one  ?  " 

A  sudden  pallor  swept  over  the  listening 
child's  face.  Poor  little  Peggy,  she  did  n't 
know  that  the  tenderness  of  tone  in  that 
question  was  meant  for  other  ears.  She 
clung  to  Ali  Baba  in  a  moment's  passion  of 

41 


» 


h     :f 


/III 


The  Loom  of  Destiny 

affection.     Then  she  slipped  away  from  him, 
in  shamed  silence,  as  a  woman  might. 

"And  shan't  we  have  fun  though,  eh, 
Peggy  ?  "  said  Ali  Baba. 

Peggy  looked  at  the  other  girl,  and  saw 
the  unspoken  misery  on  her  face.  Then 
Ali  Baba  caught  her  up  in  his  big  arms  and 
she  forgot  again. 

"  Won't  we,  though  !  And  Hawkins 
won't  be  here,  and  we  '11  play  trolley  cars  in 
the  brougham,  and  we  '11  unbury  the  dead  cat 
and  have  another  funeral,  and  you  can  throw 
green  apples  at  the  Browns'  gardener." 

"  And  we  *11  play  hare  and  hounds,"  said 
Ali  Baba,  "  and  piggie-in-the-hole,  and  French 
and  English,  and  —  and  all  the  rest !  And 
you  '11  be  my  girl  after  this,  my  sure>enough 
girl,  and  never  go  back  on  me,  and  you  '11 
wait  for  me,  and  we  '11  marry  each  other 
some  day  and  be  happy  ever  afterwards." 

When  Ali  Baba  went  away,  Peggy  sat 
wrapped  in  thought  for  some  time.  A  new 
world  had  opened  up  for  her.     She  sighed. 

"  You  don't  really  care,  do  you.  Aunt 
Frankie  ? "  she  asked  with  great  gravity. 

49 


I 


If 


"1 


The  Iron  Age 

The  woman,  who  was  gazing  absently 
out  of  the  window,  shook  her  head,  and 
seemed  to  swallow  something  that  stuck  in 
her  throat. 

"Teddie  was  such  a  baby,  you  know. 
Aunt  Frankie !  And  you  won*t  care  if  I 
don't  ask  you  to  come  when  we  unbury  the 
cat  ?  " 

Again  the  other  shook  her  head,  but  this 
time  with  a  smile. 

'*  And  you  don't  mind  me  being  his  sure- 
enough  girl  after  this,  do  you  ? "  Then 
there  was  a  pause.  "  It 's  just  as  well,  you 
know.  Aunt  Frankie,  because  he  often  said 
he'd  wait  and  marry  me  if  I  truly  wanted 
him  to.  And  Ali  Baba,  dear  old  Ali  Baba, 
is  so  nice."  There  was  another  long  pause. 
"  Aunt  Frankie,  don't  you  think  it 's  —  it 's 
piggy  of  mamma  to  keep  me  in  these  hor'- 
ble  short  skirts  ?  " 

But  the  other  went  away  without  answer- 
ing, and  left  the  child  still  wrapped  in  thought. 

When  Ali  Baba  came  as  he  had  promised, 
Peggy's  aunt  had  locked  herself  in  her  room, 
and  Ali  Baba  accordingly  did  not  play  with 

43 


l\ 


t  •  I' 
<:■. 


i 


,'i 


!| 


f    '! 


The  Loom  of  Destiny 

as  light  a  heart  as  usual.  And  Peggy,  too, 
was  not  the  old  Peggy.  A  most  wonderful 
change  had  taken  place.  The  holes  in  her 
stockings  were  all  carefully  mended,  and 
Susette,  Peggy's  French  maid,  had  been  com- 
manded to  lay  out  an  entire  clean  dress  for  her, 
a  command  unique  in  the  regime  of  Susette. 

The  second  day  that  Ali  Baba  came  there 
was  a  still  more  mysterious  change  in  Peggy. 
She  carried  her  hands  awkwardly.  When 
Ali  Baba  kissed  her  there  was  a  tingle  in  the 
touch  —  the  first  her  childish  lips  had  ever 
felt.  She  wore  her  hated  new  boots  that 
squeaked,  and  Susette  had  been  m?de  to  sew 
an  extension  on  her  meagre  pett  t.  For 
the  first  time  in  her  life  she  had  felt  ashamed 
of  her  legs.  Her  hair  was  slicked  down  with 
water,  and  she  was  silent  and  ill  at  ease. 

She  did  not  try  to  climb  up  Ali  Baba  that 
day  as  if  he  were  an  apple-tree,  and  when 
he  called  her  Peggy  she  told  him  with  great 
gravity  that  Peggy  was  a  baby's  name,  and 
that  she  wished  he  would  call  her  Marjorie. 

That  day  Peggy's  mamma  saw  her  walk- 
ing sedately  down  the  stairs,  without  so  much 

44 


too, 
:rful 

her 

and 

;om- 
rher, 
2tte. 
there 

'eggy- 

kVhen 
in  the 
I  ever 
ts  that 
to  sew 
.     For 
ihamed 
m  with 
►e. 

iba  that 
i  when 
h  great 
me,  and 
irjorie. 
er  walk- 
so  much 


i 


The  Iron  Age 

as  touching  the  banister,  and  wondered  if 
the  poor  child  was  ill  again. 

The  next  time  Ali  Baba  came,  Peggy  sat 
waiting  with  her  hands  in  her  lap.  She  had 
stolen  twelve  of  Susette's  brass  hairpins,  and 
had  done  her  frowsy  little  curls  up  in  a  ridicu- 
lous bob  on  the  top  of  her  head.  Her  heart 
was  heavy,  nevertheless,  for  she  had  found 
out  for  the  first  time  that  she  had  freckles  — 
hundreds  of  them. 

When  Ali  Baba  came  in  he  was  in  un- 
usual good  spirits,  for  he  picked  up  Miss 
Peggy  and  impertinently  kissed  her  on  her 
little  freckled  nose  anu  asked  where  her  Aunt 
Frankie  was. 

Peggy  resented  that  familiarity  of  address, 
whereupon  Ali  Baba  kissed  her  again,  and  told 
her  not  to  get  priggish. 

Peggy  stamped  her  foot  with  rage.  She 
would  let  Ali  Baba  know  she  was  not  a  baby. 

Ali  Baba  laughed  and  took  her  struggling 
in  his  arms,  as  he  would  hold  an  infant. 

"  I  hate  you,  I  hate  you !  "  she  cried 
hotly,  as  Ali  Baba  laughingly  made  his 
escape. 

45 


aai 


ttam 


aHM 


U 


W 


hi 


The  Loom  of  Destiny 

That  night  some  one  came  down  to  dinner 
wearing  a  ring  with  one  big  shiny  diamond 
in  it,  and  an  unusual  pinkiness  in  her  cheeks. 
Peggy  did  not  understand  its  exact  meaning, 
but  she  knew  it  must  have  come  fi  om  Ali  Baba. 
The  thought  filled  her  with  a  vague  unrest, 
for  Ali  Baba  scarcely  spoke  to  her  all  dinner- 
time. She  was  silent  and  miserable  as  the  meal 
went  on.  Her  mother  and  father  exchanged 
glances  as  they  noted  the  change.  Miss 
Peggy  was  at  last  learning  to  act  more  like 
a  little  lady  at  the  table !  But  there  was  a 
mystery  and  constraint  about  that  dinner  that 
the  child  did  not  understand.  She  felt  very 
lonesome.  Al:  Baba  had  forgotten  the  woman 
he  had  promiser^  to  marry  if  she  would  wait 
for  him  ! 

"  When  are  you  going  to  make  your  j,eace 
with  Peggy  ? "  she  heard  her  Aunt  Frankie 
laughingly  ask  Ali  Baba. 

"  Oh,  I  *11  have  to  do  that  when  I  'm  her 
cross  old  uncle,  shan't  I,  Peggy  ? "  laughed 
back  Ali  Baba.  "  But  Peggy  is  n't  the  same 
little  girl  I  used  to  know.  The  Boogie  man 
must  have  carried  ofF  my  little  Peggy  !  " 

46 


her 

ighed 

same 

man 


The  Iron  Age 

With  one  sickening  flash  the  tRith  dawned 
on  Peggy.  Her  uncle !  Her  uncle !  Her 
heart  jumped  up  into  her  throat,  and  in  her 
agony  she  tore  the  lace  Susette  had  sewn  so 
carefully  on  her  dress  —  sewn  on  for  him  ! 
The  first  petal  had  fallen  from  the  rose  of 
her  childhood. 

"  Why,  Peggy,  dear,  what  is  it  ? "  asked 
her  mother  in  alarm. 

Peggy  did  not  and  could  not  answer. 
A  new  and  ternble  sense  of  desertion  and 
loneliness  was  eating  at  her  heart.  A  blind- 
ing mist  came  before  her  eyes,  and,  to  her 
unutterable  shame,  she  wept  —  broke  down 
and  cried  like  a  baby  before  Ali  Baba  and 
all  the  others. 

She  shook  ofF  the  arm  her  mother  had 
slipped  about  her,  pushed  over  the  cream 
pitcher,  flung  her  own  pink  plate  on  the 
floor,  turned  from  the  table  and  fled  from 
the  room.  She  did  not  care  where,  so  long 
as  it  was  out  of  the  house  and  out  of  his 
sight. 

"  How  —  how  extraordinary  !  "  gasped  Ali 
Baba. 

47 


am 


SB 


r'   li 


The  Loom  of  Destiny 

The  butler  was  smiling  behind  his  hand. 
Peggy  saw  it,  and  as  she  went  past  she  kicked 
him  vigorously  and  viciously  on  the  shins. 

"  Poor  Peggy,"  said  the  woman  with  the 
diamond  ring,  as  she  held  Ali  Baba's  hand 
under  the  table.     She  understood. 

Up  in  the  hay-mow,  to  the  consternation 
of  the  listening  Hawkins,  Peggy  was  crying 
as  if  her  heart  was  broken  for  all  time. 

"  Yes,"  the  child's  mother  was  saying 
over  the  coffee,  "  Peggy  is  just  at  the  awk- 
ward age,  is  n'c  she  ?  " 


48 


ind. 
ked 

• 

the 
Land 

ition 
jring 

ying 
iwk- 


THE   KING   WHO   LOST   HIS 
CROWN 

An'  th'  iydies  cooed,  ''  O  tb'  aynge I  things ! 

An'  *ow  'andsohie  in  their  cPoes !*' 
But  *Arryy  my  eye,  you  knows  '  ow  far 

In  us  tV  aynge  I  goes  ! 


.^MBSBESSSSB 


r.TS--    le 


TT  was  certainly  the  wonder  of  the  neigh- 
j,  bourhood.  Its  first  appearance  had 
been  the  one  event  of  the  year,  and  a  flutter 
of  excitement  ran  through  the  Street  as  its 
glories  were  dilated  on  from  doorway  to  door- 
way down  the  little  colony.  Never,  since 
the  police  had  raided  Ching  Lung's  laundry, 
had  such  excitement  been  known. 

It  was  nothing  but  a  shop  sign,  made  up 
of  white,  or  almost  white,  lettering,  on  a  sky- 
blue  background,  and  announced  in  char- 
acters of  fitting  size  that  Mrs.  Doyle  was  a 
dealer  in  candies,  home-made  taffies,  confec- 
tionery, tobacco,  cigarettes,  and  sundries. 
The  "  sundries  "  was  a  mystery  to  most  of 
the  admirers  of  the  sign,  but  they  assumed  it 
stood  for  something  no  less  delicious  than 
caramels. 

SI 


■  n 


I 


i< 


I 


The  Loom  of  Destiny 

For  months  the  dingy  little  shop  had  stood 
empty.  When  Mrs.  Doyle  was  found  mys- 
teriously occupying  it  one  morning,  its  doors 
and  windows  were  watched  as  only  these 
things  should  be  watched  at  such  a  time. 
A  person  can't  be  too  careful  about  these 
new-comers. 

The  watchers  saw  a  transformation  take 
place.  Boxes  of  highly  coloured  candies  ap- 
peared in  the  show  window,  together  with 
bags  of  molasses  pop-corn,  and  square  tins  of 
brown  taiFy,  and  rows  of  chocolate  mice  with 
elastic  tails.  There  also  appeared  a  box  of 
pink  and  green  marbles,  and  a  wire  basket 
with  seven  wizened  lemons  in  it. 

The  inhabitants  of  the  Street  viewed  all 
these  things  with  wonder  and  delight.  At 
times  during  the  day  at  least  a  dozen  admir- 
ing noses  were  flattened  inquisitively  against 
the  little  panes  of  the  candy  shop  window. 

Naturally.,  then,  when  Master  Thomas 
Doyle  made  his  first  appearance  on  the  Street 
with  the  other  children  he  was  at  once 
surrounded  by  an  admiring  and  solicitous 
crowd,  who,  he  was  astonished  to  find,  took 


i 


I: 


The  King  who  Lost  His  Crown 

a  most  kindly  and  unexpected  interest  in 
him. 

In  fact  many  sly  advances  were  made 
toward  Tommie.  He  was  given  a  broken 
top  and  a  handful  of  marbles,  and  Jimmie 
Birkins  asked  if  Tommie  wanted  to  see  their 
cat  when  it  was  being  poisoned.  It  was  felt 
to  be  a  good  thing  to  know  a  boy  who  lived 
in  a  candy  shop.  All  of  their  advances 
Tommie  Doyle  received  with  fitting  reserve 
and  dignity. 

When  he  was  subtly  questioned  about  the 
amount  of  candy  and  taffy  he  was  allowed  to 
devour  each  day,  he  curled  his  lip  with  care- 
less contempt. 

"  Candy  ?  Ugh  !  I  'm  sick  and  tired  of 
candy,  I  am  !  " 

Never  in  all  time  had  such  a  thing  been 
known  before.  A  chorus  of  wondering 
"  Oh's  "  went  up  from  the  astonished  circle. 

"  All  I  Ve  got  to  do,"  said  Tommie,  with 
a  proper  sense  of  his  own  importance,  "  is 
to  pick  up  a  pan  and  sit  down  and  eat  it. 
But  I  like  chocolate  mice  the  best.  They  're 
great,  ain't  they  ?     I  just  had  four  or  five 

S3 


I '( I 


The  Loom  of  Destiny 

of  *em  before  I  came  out !  "  he  added  with  a 
fine  nonchalance. 

The  circle  of  listeners  nudged  one  another 
knowingly,  and  shook  their  heads. 

Their  wondering  admiration  seemed  to 
encourage  the  boy  who  lived  in  the  candy 
shop.  The  glory  of  his  position  had  never 
before  dawned  upon  him. 

'*  Why,"  he  went  on,  "  my  ma  says  kind 
of  cross,  '  Tommie,  you  ain't  had  your  'lasses 
taffy  to-day !  You  set  right  down  and  eat 
that  pan  before  you  go  out  and  play  ! '  And 
she  gets  real  mad  if  she  sees  me  tryin*  to  go 
out  without  eatin'  a  pan,  or  what 's  left,  so 's 
she  can  wash  it  up  again." 

The  circle  gasped.  "  When  're  yer  goin' 
to  bring  us  out  a  pan  ?  "  a  small  boy  at 
the  back  of  the  crowd  piped  up.  They  all 
pretended  to  be  justly  shocked  at  such 
forwardness. 

"  Why,  any  time  at  all,  I  guess,  if  you 
want  some  real  bad.  And  some  chocolate 
mice,  too,  eh  ?  "  said  Tommie,  pointing  out 
the  box  of  rodent  delicacies. 

A  dozen  mouths  watered  at  the  thought. 

S4 


i 


The  King  who  Lost  His  Crown 

TI  ey  fawned  over  him,  and  showed  him  how 
to  play  craps,  though  not  for  keeps.  And 
as  for  Tommie,  he  was  drunk  with  the  con- 
sciousness of  his  strange  new  power.  He 
walked  with  a  sort  of  lordly  independence 
among  the  children  of  the  Street,  for  he  saw 
he  was  already  established  in  the  position  he 
felt  he  ought  to  occupy.  He  blush?  ngly 
remembered  that  he  had  bawled  for  a  day 
when  the  moving  was  first  begun,  but  now 
he  was  a  king.  And  he  had  not  had  to  fight 
one  single  fight ! 

In  fact,  little  gifts  were  urged  upon  Tom- 
mie, which  he  took  with  assumed  reluctance, 
and  tiny  girls  made  hungry  and  melting  eyes 
at  him  after  feasting,  in  fancy,  before  that 
ever-alluring  window.  This  was  especially 
so  in  the  case  of  Maggie  Reilly,  whose  affairs 
of  the  heart  had  been  both  numerous  and 
noted. 

Often  Tommie  would  come  out  of  the 
shop  smacking  his  lips  with  great  relish,  and 
say  that  he  could  still  taste  that  last  choco- 
late mouse.  Day  by  day,  too,  he  recounted 
the  amount  of  taffy  and  chocolate  mice  his 

55 


i     i 


The  Loom  of  Destiny 

mother  made  him  consume,  and  told  how  she 
felt  hurt  if  he  did  n't  seem  to  enjoy  his  allow- 
ance. And  week  by  week  hope  and  hunger 
increased  among  the  ranks  of  his  army  of 
worshippers.  But  neither  candy  nor  taffy 
nor  mice  were  forthcoming,  and  at  last 
sounds  of  doubt  and  dissension  arose.  All 
day  long  a  hungry-eyed  group  of  children 
hung  about  the  shop  window  and  gazed  upon 
the  delicacies  within,  but  never  were  they 
invited  inside  by  the  obdurate  Tommie. 
Two  glass  jars,  one  of  peppermints  and  one 
of  red  wintergreen  drops,  appeared  in  the 
window  and  added  to  the  seductiveness  of  the 
forbidden  paradise,  and  one  week  later  these 
were  followed  by  a  pasteboard  box  filled  with 
all-day-suckers. 

Two  days  after  the  appearance  of  the  box 
of  all-day-suckers  Maggie  Reilly  came  into 
the  possession  of  two  pennies.  It  was  believed 
by  some  that  such  wealth  was  not  come  by 
honestly,  but  this  statement  was  frowned 
down,  not  for  any  faith  in  Maggie  Reilly's 
honesty,  but  simply  because  curiosity  con- 
quered all  other  feelings 

S6 


The  King  who  Lost  His  Crown 

With  these  two  pennies  she  invaded  the 
sacred  realms  of  Tommie  Doyle's  candy  shop. 
After  much  debate  it  had  been  decided  that 
she  should  be  accompanied  by  Lou  Birkins, 
her  bosom  friend.  The  little  bell  rang  with 
an  awe-inspiring  clatter  as  the  two  fortunate 
ones  entered  the  sacred  portal.  Once  inside 
they  gazed  with  wide  eyes  and  open  mouth 
on  the  strange  treasures  that  lay  before  them. 

In  a  way,  the  sight  was  disappointing. 
Mrs.  Doyle  was  scrubbing  the  floor  when 
they  stumbled  and  shuffled  in,  but  she  wiped 
her  hands  and  arms  on  her  mat  apron,  and 
got  up  from  her  knees  when  she  saw  they 
were  customers.  She  was  a  thin,  gaunt 
woman  with  a  shrill  voice,  and  she  fright- 
ened Maggie  Reilly  so  much  that  that  startled 
young  lady  did  n't  know  whether  she  wanted 
wintergreen  drops  or  chocolate  mice.  She 
finally  solved  the  problem  by  taking  con- 
versation lozenges,  six  for  a  penny. 

While  these  were  being  counted  out  the 
voice  of  Tommie  Doyle  came  from  the  little 
room  at  the  back  of  the  shop. 

"  Ma,   why    can't  I  scrape    out    the    big 

57 


The  Loom  of  Destiny 

pot  ? "  The  voice  was  tremulous  with 
tearful   entreaty. 

"  Because  you  can't,  that's  why,  Tommie 
Doyle ! "  shrilly, sternly,  called  back  his  mother 
from  the  shop. 

"But  I  ain't  had  a  taste  of  taffy  since 
we  *ve  come  in  this  new  shop  !  "  wailed  back 
the  boy. 

"  And  you  ain't  likely  to  get  none,  neither ! " 
said  his  mother  impassively,  as  she  put  the  two 
pennies  in  an  empty  cigar-box  placed  on  the 
shelf  for  that  purpose. 

The  two  visitors  looked  at  each  other  with 
significant  glances.  The  revelation  had  come  ! 
Tommie  Doyle  was  a  sham  and  an  impostor. 
Conversation  lozenges  were  forgotten,  and 
the  little  bell  over  the  shop  door  had  not 
ceased  ringing  before  the  news  was  spreading 
like  wildfire  down  the  Street. 

When  Tommie  Doyle  stepped  out  of  the 
shop  that  afternoon,  smacking  his  lips  and 
rubbing  his  stomach,  a  jeer  of  laughter 
sounded  through  the  crowded  street. 

"  Ma,  why  can't  I  scrape  out  the  big 
pot  ?  "  mimicked  Maggie  Reilly  with  fiend- 

S8 


The  King  who  Lost  His  Crown 

ish  delight,  for  she  felt  that  her  feelings  had 
been  outraged  by  Tommie  in  days  gone  by. 
A  score  of  voices  took  up  the  cry,  "  Ma, 
why  can't  I  scrape  out  the  big  pot  ?  "  and  the 
taunt  went  echoing  down  the  Street. 

The  boy  who  lived  in  the  candy  shop 
learned  that  day,  in  the  deepest  depths  of  his 
heart,  that  the  way  of  the  transgressor  is 
hard! 


59 


i(   ; 


■"v 


m  'ii 


I/'  w 


\ 


f.    w 


LIFE'S   LOADED   DIE 


For  w*oi*s  bin  bred  in  these  *ere  bones. 
In  these  *  ere- bone:;  was  bred ; 

An*  you  an^  me  is  gutter  scum 
Till  you  an*  me  is  dead. 


B 


i    :      n/ 


f       f 


^ 


(( 


B 


IFF  a  cop  in  de  eye,  if  yer  lookin*  fer 
trouble,  or  t*row  yerself  under  de 
cable,  but  don*t  youse  ever  give  our  Shanghai 
de  stunt  ! "  was  a  saying  on  the  East  Side 
long  held  to  be  oracular  in  its  unchallenged 
wisdom.  But  the  East  Side  in  general  and 
this  same  Shanghai  Sharkey  in  particular  had 
never  heard  a  still  older  saying  about  giving 
a  dog  a  bad  name  and  then  hanging  it.  The 
Shanghai  Sharkey,  like  all  small  boyi.,  had 
an  honest  and  outspoken  contempt  for  any- 
thing in  the  shape  of  proverb,  parable,  or 
text,  which  same  smacked  suspiciously  of 
Sunday  School  and  things  hateful  to  the  eyes 
of  the  urban  ungodly,  and  were,  therefore, 
religiously  eschewed. 

Yet  it  was  the  little  germ  of  truth  hidden 
in  the  core  of  that  old  platitude  which  made 

63 


,i*f; 


I 


'.   < 


n 


I 


The  Loom  of  Destiny 

this  one  boy  just  what  he  was.  When 
Destiny  flung  the  Shanghai  Sharkey  into  the 
world  she  threw  a  loaded  die  on  the  board, 
for  any  New  York  boy  born  of  the  house 
and  name  of  Sharkey  must  know  that  he 
has  a  name  to  live  up  to  and  a  reputation  to 
sustain. 

Timmie  did  not  claim  direct  relationship 
with  the  one  and  only  Sharkey,  but  very  early 
in  life  he  found  that  the  mere  name  itself  was 
a  standing  challenge  to  fight  all  new-comers. 
If  the  Shanghai  Sharkey  came  home  three 
days  in  the  week  with  black  eyes  and  the 
nosebleed,  his  father,  who  was  a  longshore- 
man by  profession  and  a  gin-drinker  by  occu- 
pation, was  in  the  habit  of  saying  that  it  was 
not  the  kid's  fault,  proudly  protesting  that  his 
son  was  a  regular  chip  of  the  old  block  ! 
Timmie' s  father  himself  had  been  somewhat 
of  a  boxer  in  his  day,  and  even  now,  when 
his  powers  were  in  the  sere  and  yellow  leaf, 
he  at  times  showed  the  weight  of  his  brawny 
arm.  This  was  true  especially  when  his 
thin-faced,  sickly  wife,  who  sewed  ten  weary 
hours  a  day,  refused  to  hand  over  the  last 

64 


■    : 


Lifers  Loaded  Die 

dime  in  the  house,  that  he  might  cheer  his 
drooping  spirits  with  another  drop  or  two  of 
Holland  gin.  Timmie  himself,  in  his  in- 
fancy, it  must  be  confessed,  had  been  a 
silent  and  sickly  baby,  with  his  mother's 
meek  grey  eyes  and  an  inordinate  love  for  a 
certain  tattered  and  bodiless  old  rag  doll.  It 
was  this  disappointment  in  his  son  and  heir,^ 
Timmie's  father  stoutly  protested,  that  had 
first  driven  him  to  drink. 

But  if  Timmie*3  progenitor  had  at  first 
beheld  these  things  with  undisguised  anger 
and  disgust,  he  vigorously  undertook  the 
child's  reformation,  almost,  in  fact,  before  he 
was  weaned.  The  boy  was  taught,  by  the 
time  he  was  able  to  walk,  how  to  guard,  feint, 
clinch,  and  break  away.  At  the  same  time 
he  was  in  the  habit  of  showing  him,  in  a 
way  that  made  poor  Timmie*s  mother  weep 
for  many  an  anxious  hour,  how  a  Sharkey 
should  be  able  to  stand  punishment. 

So  by  the  time  Timmie  was  old  enough 
to  venture  into  the  open  street  he  was  mas- 
ter of  his  two  childish  fists,  and  what  was 
more,  he  knew  it.  That  knowledge  is  a 
5  6s 


H 


/I    j  j 


I 


It 


The  Loom  of  Destiny 

terrible  and  a  dangerous  thing  in  the  mind 
of  a  boy. 

It  was  on  his  very  first  day  in  the  open 
that  he  won  for  himself  the  name  of  Shang- 
hai, or  rather,  the  Shanghai  Sharkey,  —  a 
name  which  stuck  to  him  through  a  thousand 
battles. 

He  was,  it  is  said,  thus  aptly  christened 
because  of  his  ragged  stockings  and  tattered 
shoes,  which,  in  the  activities  of  warfare, 
looked  strangely  like  the  feathered  limbs  of 
some  uncouth  Shanghai  rooster. 

When  the  victorious  boy,  very  bloody  and 
very  white,  was  helped  home  after  his  first 
fight,  his  exultant  father's  joy  knew  no 
bounds.  The  child  himself,  in  his  pride, 
accordingly  forgot  about  his  bleeding  lip, 
and  wondered  why  his  mother  should  sit  by 
the  window  and  cry.  That  night,  when  her 
husband  was  asleep,  she  stole  out  of  bed  and 
crept  stealthily  over  to  the  child's  little 
couch,  listening  anxiously  in  the  darkness  to 
hear  if  he  was  still  breathing.  Timmie, 
whose  head  was  beating  like  a  drum,  was 
awake,  and  saw  her,  but  said  nothing. 

66 


I 


I 


Life's  Loaded  Die 

Once  honoured  by  such  a  name,  the 
Shanghai  Sharkey  found  he  had,  indeed,  a  repu- 
tation to  live  up  to.  Thereafter  a  new  boy 
dared  not  venture  into  the  remotest  bound- 
aries of  the  Ward,  and  expect  to  dwell  there- 
in, without  first  being  duly  challenged  and 
fought  by  the  Shanghai.  This  cost  the  chal- 
lenger a  tooth  or  two,  numerous  scars,  and  a 
periodically  blackened  eye,  but  many  battles, 
in  time,  taught  him  not  only  how  to  endure, 
but  even  how  to  elude,  the  severe  punish- 
ment which  customarily  comes  with  all  such 
encounters.  The  result  was  that  the  new 
boy  was  usually  defeated,  while  the  victo- 
rious Timmie  went  home  each  time  with  less 
blood  wiped  from  his  nose  by  his  ragged 
coat  sleeve.  Each  engagement  added  one 
more  to  that  ever  swelling  army  of  urchins 
who  came  to  look  upon  the  Shanghai  Sharkey 
and  his  prowess  with  admiring  and  reveren- 
tial eyes.  And  Timmie's  father  hit  him 
enthusiastically  on  the  back  and  said  with 
pride  that  he  was  a  bloody  little  devil. 

So  in  time  it  came  about  that  there  was 
not  a  boy  on  the  East  Side  who  did  not  fear 

67 


t  ■ 


The  Loom  of  Destiny 

and  envy  this  lion-hearted  and  tiger-toothed 
hero  of  a  hundred  fights.  Nor  was  there  a 
girl  within  twelve  squares  of  the  Sharkey 
residence  (and  strangely  unpretentious  was 
that  residence  for  such  an  eminent  inhabi- 
tant ! )  who  did  not  furtively  cast  shy  glances 
at  the  Shanghai.  To  be  the  "  steady  "  of 
one  by  the  name  of  Sharkey  was  something 
for  future  generations  eternally  to  dream  of, 
and  talk  over,  and  wonder  at  I 

Notwithstanding  these  seductive  advances, 
the  Shanghai  Sharkey,  as  a  fighting  man, 
publicly  and  with  fitting  dignity,  proclaimed 
that  it  was  not  for  him  to  waste  his  time  and 
goodly  strength  on  women  folks.  Far  from 
it.  At  his  father's  solicitation  he  beguiled 
Mike  Donovan,  who  kept  the  "  Lincoln 
Saloon  "  on  the  next  corner,  to  give  him  cer- 
tain private  tips  on  left  hooks  and  advancing, 
—  points  on  which  even  Timmie*s  father 
confessed  a  latter-day  ignorance.  Mike 
Donovan  had  been  a  boxer  of  repute  in  his 
youth,  and  even  at  the  present  time  three 
stoop-shouldered  young  men,  wearing  gold 
eye-glasses,  came  to  him  twice  a  week  and 

68 


Life's  Loaded  Die 

were  regularly  sent  home  with  puffed  cheeks 
and  watery  eyes.  The  Shanghai  Sharkey, 
for  his  lessons  in  the  manly  art,  entered  into 
a  contract  which  ordained  that  once  a  day  he 
should  polish  the  brass  window  rods  of  his 
tutor's  saloon. 

But  in  this  world  every  rose  has  its  thorn, 
and  every  Klondike  its  Chilkoot.  The 
Shanghai  Sharkey,  for  all  his  conquests,  with 
all  his  admirers,  and  all  his  fame,  was  far 
from  being  inwardly  happy.  He  was  an  im- 
postor. In  the  bottom  of  his  own  heart  he 
knew  he  was  a  sham  and  a  deception.  He 
was  not  the  thing  he  pretended  to  be,  and  the 
irony  of  it  all  weighed  heavily  on  his  heart. 

The  skeleton  in  the  Shanghai  Sharkey's 
closet  was  nothing  more  nor  less  than  a  Baby. 
Over  this  Baby  his  spirit  brooded  with  a  ten- 
derness that  was  almost  maternal.  As  a 
fighting  man  he  knew  well  enough  he  should 
be  above  all  such  things !  But  try  as  he 
might,  he  could  not  help  entertaining  a  secret 
and  passionate  love  for  this  same  little  shred 
of  humanity,  which  came  unexpectedly  into 
his  home  one  memorable  day.    As  a  Sharkey  it 

69 


! 


h 


I 


L". 


Vh 


i    I 


•1! 


The  Loom  of  Destiny 

was  both  wrong  and  inconsistent,  and  a  weak- 
ness to  be  overcome,  in  some  way,  and  hero- 
ically lived  down.  Babies  were  for  women 
folks  to  bother  about,  and  were  meant  mostly 
for  boys  to  kick.  But  the  loaded  die  had 
ordained  that  Timmie,  the  man  of  blood, 
should,  in  truth,  have  the  heart  of  a  girl,  and 
that  havir^  such,  he  should  lead  for  all  time 
a  double  life. 

The  same  hand  that  had  knocked  out 
Dinney  Crockett  one  day  might  be  discov- 
ered the  next  holding,  with  great  care  and 
tenderness,  a  little  oval-shaped  bottle  from 
which  a  hungr)  fant  could  be  seen  feeding. 
Or  at  night  the  Shanghai  Sharkey  might  be 
found  patiently  rocking  an  uncouth  looking 
little  cradle,  and  humming  a  slumber  croon 
of  his  own  invention  to  the  Baby.  The 
cradle  in  question,  Timmie  himself  had  made 
of  a  sugar  barrel  and  a  stolen  fence-board. 
But  the  worst  of  it  all  was,  that  to  do  such, 
was  the  joy  of  Timmie's  life. 

Day  after  day  the  Baby's  mother  lay  on 
her  bed,  counting  the  figures  on  the  dirty 
wall-paper,  and    nervously  clutching  at    the 

70 


i  . 


>n 


he 


Life's  Loaded  Die 

threads  in  the  worn  counterpane.  Timmie 
did  not  mind  not  being  able  to  go  out,  and  it 
did  not  take  him  long  to  learn  how  to  warm 
the  milk.  But  now  and  then  some  stray 
street-cry  would  enter  the  quiet  little  room, 
and  he  would  remember  his  old  battles,  and 
the  thought  of  them  would  fill  him  with  a 
sickening  horror. 

Still,  in  some  way,  his  barbaric  little  heart 
warm 'd  to  his  work,  and  he  did  his  best  to 
forget,  and  in  time  he  grew  to  love  the  little 
squalling  piece  of  ever-hungry  flesh  and  blood 
with  a  love  that  was  wonderful  and  beautiful 
to  behold. 

It  was  only  natural,  then,  that  following 
the  birth  of  the  Baby  there  was  less  blood- 
shed in  the  Ward  than  the  oldest  inhabitant 
or  even  the  most  vigilant  policeman  could 
remember. 

But  one  week  after  Timmie  had  completed 
his  wonderful  cradle,  his  father  came  home, 
exhaling  the  odour  of  gin,  and  kicked  the 
cradle  out  into  the  street.  When  Timmie*s 
mother,  who  lay  sobbing  on  her  bed,  wailed 
that  she  had  no  more  money  to  give  him,  he 

71 


•4 


ii' 


i  t- 

t 

1 

1 

1 

•       I 

J 

■A 

i 

I' 

f 

1 

i 

The  Loom  of  Destiny 

prepared  to  kick  the  woman  into  the  street 
after  the  cradle. 

"  Money,  damn  you ;  I  must  'ave  money  !  ** 
roared  the  man,  mad  drunk.  He  had  been 
born  within  sound  of  Bow  Bells,  and  under 
drink  or  sudden  passion  his  Cockney  accent 
and  his  hunger  to  kick  women  came  back  to 
him. 

"  *01d  off,  you  bloody  young  whelp  !  "  he 
cried  the  next  minute,  for  Timmie  had  seen 
the  act  and  had  flung  himself  on  his  father, 
tooth  and  nail.  "  'Old  off,  I  say,  or  I  '11 
kick  your  bloody  young  guts  out !  " 

The  man  shook  the  boy  oflF  as  a  bull-dog 
would  shake  a  pup,  roughly,  but  not  unkindly. 

"  Money  !    you  bawlin'   'ound,    money,  I 


say, 


or  I  Ml  —  " 


Timmie  knew  his  mother  was  going  to  be 
murdered.  This  time  he  fought  with  neither 
his  fists  nor  his  feet.  With  vice-like  arms 
he  clutched  his  father  about  the  knees,  and 
sank  his  teeth  into  the  fleshy  part  of  the  huge 
leg  he  held,  till  the  blood  spurted  out  on  the 
blue-jean  overalls,  and  the  taste  of  it  on  his 
lips  turned  him  sick. 

72 


:i '! 


Life's  Loaded  Die 

The  man  leaped  away  with  a  howl  of 
anguish,  recovered  himself,  and  aimed  one 
deadly  kick  at  the  boy.  The  Shanghai 
Sharkey  dodged  the  great  heavy  boot  like  a 
cat,  burst  open  the  door,  and  screamed  again 
and  again  for  help. 

In  two  minutes  a  hundred  strange  feet 
were  tramping  about  the  little  house,  though 
it  was  an  hour  and  more  before  the  hospital 
ambulance  drove  up  and  carried  the  woman 
away. 

In  a  moment  of  consciousness,  as  they 
were  carrying  her  out,  her  feeble  eyes  caught 
sight  of  the  police  patrol.  Then  it  was  she 
swore  to  them,  over  and  over  again,  that  it 
was  not  her  husband  who  had  done  it. 

Thereafter  followed  dark  and  troublous 
days  for  the  Shanghai  Sharkey.  Man,  at  his 
birth,  is  the  most  helpless  of  all  animals,  and 
this  fact  Timmie  learned,  in  the  bitterness  of 
his  heart,  when  he  found  himself  the  sole 
guardian  and  protector  of  a  motherless 
baby. 

Seldom  was  he  seen  upon  the  streets,  and 
when  it  did  so  happen  it  was  always  noted 

73 


W 


/  a 


^1  I 


The  Loom  of  Destiny 

that  he  skulked  hurriedly  homewards  with 
some  strange  parcel  under  his  arm.  Mys- 
terious washings,  too,  appeared  by  night  en 
the  Sharkey  clothes-line,  and  endless  were 
the  speculations  as  to  just  what  hand  wielded 
the  soap-bar  in  that  depleted  household. 

As  for  the  Shanghai  Sharkey  himself,  he 
often  all  but  shuddered  as  he  wondered  what 
the  "  gang  "  would  think  if  they  ever  knew 
he  had  turned  into  a  house  nurse.  For  with 
his  own  hands  he  fed  and  washed  and  dressed 
the  Baby,  and  with  his  own  hands  he  created 
for  it  a  beautiful  perambulator,  to  take  the 
place  of  the  lost  cradle.  This  perambulator 
he  made  of  two  very  wobblv  tricycle  wheels, 
purchased  from  Snapsie  Doogan  with  a 
broken  jack-knife  and  a  paper  windmill, 
v/hile  a  box  that  bore  the  imprint  of  *•'  Fox- 
bury  Rye,"  the  latter  being  the  special  gift 
of  Mike  Donovan,  did  duty  as  body  for  the 
carriage. 

It  was  three  weeks  after  his  mothei  had 
been  taken  to  the  hospital,  one  sunny  day, 
when  Timmie  was  sneaking  shamefacedly 
homeward  with  a  bottle  of  fresh  milk  for  the 

74 


the 

had 

day, 

|cedly 

)r  the 


Life's  Loaded  Die 

Baby  hidden  under  his  coat,  that  he  came 
face  to  face  with  Maggie  Reilly.  That 
young  lady,  who  for  months  past  had  n\ade 
seductive  but  ineffectual  eyes  at  the  Shanghai 
Sharkey,  was  almost  bursting  with  importance, 
for  she  had  just  come  fr  jm  the  hospital  and 
was  the  bearer  of  great  news. 

"  She  ain't  a-goin'  to  die  !  "  said  Maggie, 
gazing  a^  .  he  boy  with  a  yearning  that  would 
have  melted  a  heart  less  adamantine.  That 
was  all  she  said,  but  Timmie  understood. 
Maggie  half  regretted  this  less  tragic  turn  of 
events,  for  she  had  hoped  a  death  in  the  family 
rr.ight  humble  the  pride  cf  the  Shanghai  Shar- 
key and  turn  his  mind  to  tender  thoughts. 

Two  days  later  Mrs.  Reilly  herself  called 
on  the  abashed  Timmie,  who  was  almost 
caught  in  the  very  act  of  feeding  the  Baby 
from  a  b<>ctle. 

"  Egschuse  me.  Mister  Sharkey,"  she  said 
in  a  tone  that  cut  the  boy  to  the  bone,  so 
withering  was  its  sarcasm,  carefully  hold'ng 
up  her  ancient  skirts  while  she  spoke,  "  but 
Oi've  jist  seen  yurc  muther,  and  she  *s  sint 
down  worrud  be  me  fur  yez  to  bring  up  the 

75 


i 


'i'u 


I!     •      ■ 


The  Loom  of  Destiny 

Baby  in  the  marnin',  shure  !  Ah,  poor  sowl ! 
Indade  but  she  hungers  for  the  soight  of 
him  ! "  Mrs.  Reilly  watched  every  word 
strike  home.     "  Will  yez  do  it  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  ^Course,"  said  Timmie,  doggedly. 

Mrs.  Reilly  did  not  add  that  the  kindly 
suggestion  had  been  her  own.  She  saw, 
with  much  gratification,  the  pallor  that  over- 
spread Timmie's  face,  and  she  inwardly  re- 
joiced at  that  pallor,  for  in  days  gone  by 
the  Shanghai  Sharkey  had  closed  both  the 
eyes  of  her  little  Patrick,  and  sent  him  home 
with  bleeding  mouth  and  broken  spirit,  to 
the  undying  humiliation  of  the  house  of 
'    Reilly. 

So  Mrs.  Reilly  pointed  out,  with  quite  un- 
necessary care  and  precision ^  just  how  such  a 
journey  would  be  watched  with  delight  by 
every  man,  woman,  and  child  in  the  Ward, 
and  gracefully  withdrew,  after  pointedly  ex- 
pressing the  hope  that  he  would  n*t  put  down 
a  poor,  dear  baby  to  fight  with  any  undecent 
blackguard  as  would  stop  to  laugh  at  a  boy 
who  was  only  doing  his  bound  en  duty. 

Then,  as  she  swept  out,  she  noticed  the 


arci 


ex- 
bwn 
Icent 

boy 


the 


Life's  Loaded  Die 

sudden  look  of  fierce  rebellion  that  mounted 
the  boy*s  face,  and  discreetly  stopped  in  the 
doorway  a  minute  or  two  "q  enlarge  on  the 
blessedness  of  filial  duty,  and  hoped  "  as  he 
was  n't  a  boy  as  would  n't  listen  to  his 
muther's  dyin'  wish  —  or,  leastways,  almost 
dyin'  wish  ! " 

The  Shanghai  Sharkey,  after  that  scene, 
spent  a  sleepless  night.  In  the  throes  of 
that  midnight  struggle  he  learned  for  the  first 
time  that  the  biggest  battles  of  this  life  are 
not  fought  with  fists.  That  knowledge  is 
never  good   for  a  pugilist. 

In  the  morning,  when  he  was  feeding  the 
Baby,  he  sighed  heavily  once  or  twice.  It 
was  a  hard  v/orld.  But  in  his  eyes  there  was 
a  new  light. 

With  that  new  light  in  his  eyes  and  with 
set  jaws,  he  slowly  and  deliberately  arranged 
two  pillows  in  the  little  baby-carriage  he  had 
so  lovingly  made,  and  over  them  spread  a 
blanket.  With  a  tenderness  quite  new  to 
him,  and  a  deftness  strange  to  his  gnarled 
and  stubby  little  fingers,  he  lifted  the  Biiby 
into  the  outlandish  cart,  and  carefully  fixed  a 


Ri  .««"|* 


i 


The  Loom  of  Destiny 

blanket  over  him.  At  first  he  was  tempted  to 
cover  him,  head  and  all,  in  case  he  might 
cry.  But  that,  he  saw,  was  a  compromise, 
and  he  decided  otherwise. 

Then  he  opened  the  door  and  took  one 
last  look  at  the  dingy  room,  and  the  walls 
that  had  hidden  so  long  his  life's  disgrace. 
Once  more  he  sighed  ! 

In  another  moment  the  Rubicon  was 
crossed,  and  the  uncouth  little  baby-carriage 
was  on  the  sidewalk. 

Oulilde,  buildings  and  street  seemed  to 
reel  and  stagger  drunkenly  together.  For,  as 
he  li.id  expccteJ,  Mrs.  Reilly  had  not  been 
idle.  Somewhere  or  other  he  had  once  heard 
that  he  who  lives  by  the  sword  must  die  by 
the  sword.  As  a  fighting  man  he  asked  no 
favours.  She  was  his  enemy,  and  if  she  had 
got  within  his  guard,  why,  it  was  only  a 
part  of  the  game,  after  all !  But  it  was  a 
hard  game. 

A  thousand  curious  eyes,  it  seemed,  were 
staring  impertinently  at  him.  Every  door 
along  the  street  was  open  and  filled  with 
waiting  faces.     On  each  face  was  a  sinister, 

78 


u  4. 


Life's  Loaded  Die 

pitiless,  exultant  grin.  Godiva  riding  naked 
through  the  streets  of  Canterbury  was  happier 
than  Timmie  Sharkey  that  day. 

Eyes  that  had  once  looked  up  at  him  with 
only  awe  and  undisguised  veneration,  now 
gaped  at  him  with  mocking  laughter  and 
noses  he  had  once  triumphantly  punched  were 
now  turned  up  at  him.  Derisive,  goat-like 
cries  came  from  every  fence-corner.  Even 
a  tin  can  or  two  was  flung  at  him,  and  at 
each  fresh  assault  screams  of  delight  echoed 
down  the  street. 

A  mimic  wailing,  as  of  a  thousand  suffer- 
ing babes,  came  from  upper  windov/s  and 
doorsteps.  But  not  once  did  the  Shanghai 
Sharkey  stop,  A  woman  ng  a  dipper  of 
dirty  water  at  him  from  a  fire  escape,  and 
someone  threw  a  watermelon  rind,  which 
struck  one   wheel   of  the   carriage. 

Growing  holder  with  each  unnoticed  sally, 
the  band  of  merciless  tormentors  at  last  joined 
in  line  behind  the  baby-carriage,  and  sent 
volley  after  volley  of  coarse  raillery  at  the 
boy. 

Then  Pat  Reilly  openly  and  ostentatiously 

m 


Illi 


VI 


The  Loom  of  Destiny 

flung  an  old  boot  at  him.  The  missile  smote 
him  heavily  in  the  back  and  the  crowd  held 
its  breath.  But  from  the  Shanghai  Sharkey 
came  neither  response  nor  retaliation. 

With  that  unanswered  challenge,  both  he 
himself  and  the  entire  East  Side  realised  one 
thing  — 

The  Shanghai  Sharkey  had  fallen  —  fallen 
for  all  time. 


(  ' 


80 


I 


te 

Id 
ey 

he 
ne 


THE   CRUCIBLE    OF    CHARACTER 

They  *  or  led  ua  up  from  our  sewer  *ome. 

An*  wept  at  our  dirty  wyes, 
"  They  're  'uman,  as  us,  O  Gawd,  be\ld. 

An'  open  their  darkened  eyes  I  *' 


en 


i 


■4 


I 


I 


i    'I. 


I 


THE 

CRUCIBLE 

OP 

CHARACTER 


F   all  his    friends  Russell  Wentworth 
Russell    liked    Snapsie  Doogan  the 


O 

best. 

The  reasons  for  this  were  many.  Snapsie 
belonged  to  a  world  far  distant  from  his  own, 
and  told  him  of  weird  and  wonderful  things 
that  took  place  in  Foreign  Parts,  vaguely  but 
alluringly  known  as  the  Ward. 

Then,  again,  there  was  no  one  to  order 
Snapsie's  going  out  or  his  coming  in,  and 
this  alone  almost  deified  Snapsie  in  his  eyes. 
To  Russell  Wentworth  Russell,  who  had  a 
governess  and  a  French  maid,  to  say  nothing 
of  a  mamma  who  was  always  telling  him  not 
to  do  things,  such  undreamed  of  liberty  as 
Snapsie's  seemed  incredible  and  god-like. 

As  for  Snapsie,  he  had  neither  maid,  gover- 
ness, nor  mother,  but  gloated  unnecessarily 

83 


'0f^: 


I 


m 


^m 


i 


\\ 


The  Loom  of  Destiny 

over  his  good  luck.  On  several  occasions, 
however,  he  had  plainly  and  openly  hinted 
that  he  should  very  much  like  Russell  to 
take  him  and  show  him  these  three  myste- 
rious personages  of  his  household,  especially 
the  French  maid  at  meal-time,  for  he  had 
somewhere  heard  that  French  people  always 
ate  live  and  wriggling  frogs. 

But  this  privilege  was  obviously  impossible, 
as  Russell's  mamma  had  forbidden  him  to 
play  with  street  boys,  and  once  even  had 
ordered  the  butler  to  chase  Snapsie  off  the 
front  steps. 

Snapsie,  thus  outraged,  wreaked  a  satis- 
factory but  at  the  same  time  underhand 
revenge,  by  making  a  slide  on  the  snowy 
asphalt,  directly  in  front  of  Russell's  house. 
Up  and  down  this  beautiful  slide  he  careened 
for  two  boisterous  hours,  with  much  studied 
gusto  and  many  a  sign  of  delirious  joy,  know- 
ing full  well  that  Russell  was  watching  him 
from  the  nursery  window  with  tearful  and 
covetous  eyes. 

But  what  seemed  the  most  enviable  and 
beautiful  thing  about  Snapsie  and  his  life  was 

84 


II 


The  Crucible  of  Character 

the  fact  that  he  could  eat  whatever  and 
whenever  he  liked.  No  matter  what  time  of 
day  it  was,  all  he  had  to  do  was  to  sit  down 
and  eat '  With  Russell  it  was  very  different, 
for  it  was  part  of  Russell's  mamma's  daily 
occupation  to  examine  him  for  symptoms  of 
inherited  gastritis. 

Ever  since  Russell  had  had  bilious  fever 
—  and  the  much-abused  Russell  knew  in  his 
heart  of  hearts  that  it  had  been  brought  on 
merely  by  an  inordinate  stuffing  of  cold  suet 
pudding,  given  to  him  secretly  by  Nora,  the 
chambermaid,  in  the  cook's  absence  —  candy 
and  tafiy,  tarts  and  doughnuts,  and  all  such 
things,  indeed,  that  go  to  make  life  bear- 
able for  the  Youthful,  had  been  denied  him. 
Even  peanuts  were  tabooed,  and  after  each 
meal  he  was  made  to  swallow  a  pepsin 
tablet. 

And  many  a  time,  accordingly,  did  his 
mouth  water  during  his  clandestine  meetings 
with  Snapsie,  and  he  would  eagerly  watch  the 
boy  from  the  Ward  struggling  with  a  deli- 
ciously  sticky  all-day-sucker  or  a  pink-tinted 
bull  's-eye.     Snapsie,  by  the  way,  made  it  a 


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1.   -, 


The  Loom  of  Destiny 

point  always  to  save  his  little  delicacies  until 
such  meetings,  since  he  had  discovered  that 
the  hungry  eyes  of  another  boy  could  give 
to  his  sugary  prize  an  extraneous  and  quite 
intangible  sweetness. 

It  was  one  afternoon  when  Russell  had 
stolen  out  through  the  coach-house  to  a 
vacant  lot  they  had  appointed  as  a  rendez- 
vous, and  was  helping  Snapsie  make  a  bonfire 
of  a  piece  of  cheese-box  and  an  apple  barrel, 
that  he,  watching  the  Ward  boy  rapturously 
making  away  with  his  third  cocoanut  caramel, 
asked  him  if  he  ever  got  the  stomach-ache  ? 

"  Naw  !  *'  said  Snapsie,  wiping  his  mouth 
with  his  coat  sleeve,  "  on'y  onct  —  las' 
Chris'mus  !  " 

"  At  Christmas  !  "  said  Russell.  "  It  must 
have  been  fun." 

"  Well,  I  guess  !  There  was  a  blokie 
wid  a  jag  on  took  me  into  a  swell  hash-house 
and  says,  '  Now,  little  lean  guts,  order  any- 
t'ing  yer  wants.'  Did  n't  I  order  up  de 
grub, though  !  " 

Snapsie  's  eyes  saddened  with  the  memory 
of  it  all. 

86 


u 


The  Crucible  of  Character 

"  What  —  what  did  you  take  ?  "  asked 
Russell,  hungrily. 

"  W*y,"  I  says  to  de  chief  grub-slinger, 
"look  *ere,  waiter,  gimme  one  cow-juice 
wid  an  overcoat,  an*  den  youse  can  trow  on 
a  pair  of  de  white  wings  wid  de  sunny  side 
upj  an'  den  a  slice  or  two  for  a  gazabo, 
an*  some  mixed  Irish  arter  dat,  an*  den  a 
Santiago  cake-walk,  w*ich,  of  course,  is  a 
Spanish  Ommerlet.  Did  I  eat?  Oh,  no, 
I  did  n*t  do  a  t'ing  to  dat  meal,  I  did  n't ! 
Den  I  finished  'er  up  wid  some  Chinese 
v/hite  weddin*  an*  a  French  roll  wid  black 
dirt  on  it !  ** 

"  Black  dirt,  Snapsie  ?  **  said  Russell, 
dubiously. 

"Yep,  o*  course  it  was  black  dirt!  Dat 
means  choc*lut.'* 

"  Oh,  chocolate,**  said  Russell,  brighten- 
ing, for  he  had  understood  none  of  Snapsie*s 
graphically  enumerated  dishes,  though  he  had 
vaguely  felt  their  deliciousness,  by  the  way 
in  which  the  other  boy  worked  his  mouth 
and  rolled  his  eyes.  "  Why,  we  often  have 
chocolate  at  home.** 

87 


f 


I 


il; 


i 


II 


The  Loom  of  Destiny 

"  Youse  ?  Well,  w'y  don't  youse  bring 
us  some  out,  now  and  den  ?  " 

"  Why,  I  —  I  never  thought  of  that ! 
Besides,  my  mamma  does  n't  let  me  eat 
things,  you  know.  " 

"  Oh,  dat  's  nuthin* ;  w'y  don't  youse  pinch 
some  ?  "  Snapsie  queried,  in  the  most  matter- 
of-fact  manner. 

Why  did  n't  he  pinch  some  ?  Why  did  n't 
he,  indeed  ?  It  seemed  strange  that  he  had 
never  thought  of  that  before.  Other  boys 
ate  chocolate.  Even  Snapsie  had  it  as  often 
as  he  liked.  Why  should  n't  he  pinch  some  ? 
Snapsie,  upon  inquiry,  stated  that  it  was  great 
fun  to  pinch  stuff. 

Russell  Wentworth  Russell  found  that  the 
thought  of  his  unjust  treatment  was  a  wonder- 
ful salve  to  his  rebellious  conscience.  To 
his  uneiastic  little  code  of  fitting  things,  the 
idea  of  stealing  was  nauseatingly  new.  But 
he  was  never  let  have  anything  he  wanted. 
Why  should  n't  he  eat  stuff  between  meals, 
the  same  as  other  boys  ?  Why  was  he  made 
such  a  baby  of,  and  treated  like  a  girl  ?  He 
succeeded  in  making  himself  quite  miserable, 

88 


The  Crucible  of  Character 

and  had  worked  himself  up  into  a  satisfying 
passion  of  revolt  by  the  time  he  stole  home 
by  way  of  the  coach-house. 

He  went  in  through  the  back  door.  He 
dared  to  do  this  in  the  face  of  tradition  in 
order  that  he  might  pass  through  the  kitchen, 
off  which  opened  the  pantry.  It  was  in  the 
pantry,  he  knew,  that  th'^  ;  hocolate  was  kept. 

To  the  boy  this  same  pantry  had  always 
seemed  a  place  of  mysterious  twilight,  en- 
chanted and  fragrant  as  it  was  with  the  odour 
of  strange  spices  and  the  haunting  perfumes  of 
many  kinds  of  fruit.  In  it,  he  knew,  were  kept 
raisins  and  currants,  and  bottles  of  vanilla, 
and  orange  peel,  and  wine  biscuits,  and 
angel  food,  and  sponge  cake,  and  everything, 
in  fact,  that  would  go  to  make  it  a  place  of 
paradisal  mystery  to  the  heart  of  the  average 
small  boy.  At  the  end  of  the  pantry,  too, 
was  a  high,  small  window  with  a  wide  ledge, 
on  which  custards  were  always  put  to  cool 
and  jellies  were  left  to  form  in  the  moulds. 
There  was  also  a  row  of  spice-boxes,  all 
duly  labelled  and  ranged  beside  canisters  of 
tea  and  sugar  and  coffee.     What  was  on  tho 

89 


'■^tmtmm^^hju^. 


\ 


li 


The  Loom  of  Destiny 

higher  shelves  was  a  secret  that  only  the 
cook  and  the  gods  themselves  could  tell. 

From  his  earliest  day,  before  the  regime 
of  the  reigning  cook,  Russell  Wentworth 
Russell  could  remember  the  one  particular 
red  canister  in  wrhich  the  chocolate  was 
always  kept.  Often  he  had  seen  the  old 
cook  take  out  the  beautiful,  dark-brown 
squares  done  up  in  glittering  tin-foil  that  all 
his  life  had  seemed  so  delicious  to  him, 
especially  on  cake. 

The  old  cook,  Russell  remembered,  had 
been  much  nicer  than  Nora,  the  new  one. 
Before  the  advent  of  Nora  he  had  been 
allowed  to  stand  in  the  kitchen  and  gaze 
wonderingly  at  the  lurid  heat  of  the  range, 
and  watch  the  sizzling  roasts  being  lifted 
smoking  hot  from  the  pan  to  the  big  platter, 
which  had  queer  little  runnels  in  it  for  the 
gravy.  And  he  once  used  to  watch,  with 
delight,  the  sponge  cake  being  pierced  with  a 
thin  whisp  from  the  broom,  to  see  if  it  was 
done  in  the  centre,  and  get  the  burnt  part 
when  it  was  cut  off.  Th*^  splutter  and 
bubble  of  the  hot  grease  when  water  was 

90 


The  Crucible  of  Character 

poured  on  it  from  the  kettle,  to  make  gravy, 
had  always  been  a  sound  he  took  special 
pleasure  in,  and  sometimes  he  even  had  the 
good  luck  to  see  the  live  crabs  meet  their 
sickening  yet  fascinating  death  by  scalding. 
Sometimes,  too,  he  used  to  get  the  dish  with 
the  sugar  frosting  to  scrape  out.  Sugar  frost- 
ing, he  remembered,  was  delicious  ! 

But  Nora,  the  new  cook,  was  so  differ- 
ent !  She  was  very  cross,  and  said  the 
kitchen  was  no  place  "  fur  childer."  Her 
Irish  arms  were  red  and  big  and  strong,  and 
her  shoulders  were  broad,  and  she  had  a  way 
of  slamming  to  the  oven  door  that  always 
made  Russell  very  much  afraid  of  her. 
Her  mere  firm  stride  and  the  quick,  war-like 
way  in  which  she  would  approach  and  retreat 
from  the  hot  range  with  one  red  arm  guard- 
ing her  face,  soon  made  Russell  afraid  of  her, 
even  before  she  had  felt  enough  at  home  in 
her  new  place  to  tell  him  in  so  many  words 
that  he  had  no  business  to  an  occasional 
handful  of  raisins  out  of  her  colander. 

His  mother  herself  now  entered  that 
throne-room  of  domesticity    with    a   certain 

91 


!     i 


7^ 


Ui 


The  Loom  of  Destiny 

timidity,  so  strong-willed  and  outspoken  was 
its  monarch  on  the  question  of  foreign 
intrusion. 

So  when  Russell  heard  the  step  of  the 
cook  coming  up  from  the  laundry,  he  flushed 
guiltily  and  fled  upstairs,  by  way  of  the  back 
hall,  tingling  with  fear.  At  the  top  of  the 
stairs  he  listened  for  several  moments,  then 
tiptoed  up  to  the  nursery,  where  for  an  hour 
he  brooded  alone  with  some  indefinite  sense 
of  shame.  The  baby  curl  went  out  of  his 
lips  and  his  eyes  hardened,  for  it  was  his  first 
passion  of  illicit  possession.  He  tried  to 
remember  just  how  chocolate  tasted,  and 
brought  to  mind  the  last  time  he  had  eaten 
it  as  frosting  on  cake.  It  was  about  the 
sweetest  thing,  he  thought,  that  he  had  ever 
tasted.  But  then  they  put  such  a  little  bit  of 
frosting  on  cakes,  and  never,  never  was  he 
allowed  a  second  piece.  The  injustice  of  it 
all  filled  him  with  a  weak,  indeterminate  rage. 

When  Weston,  the  maid,  came  to  take 
him  out  for  his  walk  he  hotly  protested  that 
he  had  a  headache,  and  would  not  go.  He 
wanted  to  be  alone.     This  unexpected  revolt 

92 


The  Crucible  of  Character 


brought  his  flurried  mamma  on  the  scene, 
who  set  down  his  flushed  face  and  his  restless 
movements  as  incipient  scarlatina,  and  made 
him  hold  a  clinic  thermometer  in  his  mouth 
to  see  if  he  had  a  temperature.  Row  he 
loathed  and  abhorred  that  thermometer ! 
Then  his  mother  took  him  on  her  knee  and 
was  about  to  give  him  one  of  his  much- 
beloved  "  petting-ups,"  when  he  broke  stub- 
bornly away  and  fled  to  the  furnace-room. 

The  result  of  such  extraordinary  conduct 
was  that  he  was  straightway  put  to  bed,  and 
kept  there  through  one  long,  tearful  day. 
It  was  only  after  a  passionate  outburst  and 
a  refusal  to  eat  his  breakfast  that  he  was 
allowed  to  get  up  on  the  second  morning. 

All  that  day,  making  a  plea  of  his  so-called 
illness,  he  hung  about  the  back  of  the  house, 
listening  always  for  the  footsteps  of  the 
cook.  They  seemed  never  to  leave  the 
kitchen.  Then  he  fell  to  wondering  how 
much  chocolate  there  might  possibly  be  in 
the  red  canister. 

He  could  not  decide  whether  to  eat  it  all 
himself,    or    share     it    with     Snapsie.     He 

93 


J 


Ur 


m 


The  Loom  of  Destiny 

thought  he  ought  to  share  it  with  Snapsie. 
The  consciousness  of  having  a  comrade  in 
the  deed  was  strangely  consoling. 

But  never  had  the  house  seemed  so  full  of 
sounds.  At  each  little  noise  he  started,  and 
his  breath  came  quicker. 

Then  he  heard  the  voices  of  Weston  and 
the  cook  talking  together,  and  later  he  heard 
the  sound  of  their  feet  on  the  laundry  stairs. 

He  crept  half-way  down  his  own  stairs, 
step  by  step,  and  then  stopped  to  listen  once 
more.  A  sudden,  terrible  silence  seemed  to 
hang  over  the  back  of  the  house. 

Then,  on  his  toes,  he  slunk  cautiously 
down  to  the  kitchen.  It  was  quite  empty. 
Then  he  stole  across  the  bare  floor  and 
quietly  turned  the  handle  of  the  pantry  door. 
It  creaked  startlingly.  He  waited  a  minute 
to  listen.  Hearing  no  sound,  he  swung  the 
door  open  and  stepped  into  the  chamber  of 
mysteries.  There,  before  him,  stood  the 
red  canister,  emblazoned  with  letters  of 
shining  gold.  He  felt  the  lid,  fearfully.  A 
sudden  trembling  seized  his  knees,  and  his 
small,  talon-like  fingers  shook  visibly  as  he 

94 


R    i 


The  Crucible  of  Character 


reached  down  to  the  bottom  of  the  cannister 
and  clutched  one  of  the  large  squares  of 
silver-papered  chocolate.  There  were  other 
pieces  in  the  cannister,  but  he  did  not  stop  to 
take  them  all,  as  had  been  his  first  intention. 
The  sound  of  feet  on  the  laundry  stairs 
reached  his  ears  and  he  turned  and   fled. 

At  the  top  of  the  stairs  he  slackened  his 
pace,  and  leaned  panting  over  the  banister. 
No  one  was  following  him.  Then  with 
slow  and  cautious  steps  and  eyes  watchful, 
like  an  animal's,  he  crept  on,  from  door  to 
door,  to  the  nursery. 

There  he  sat  down,  wiping  the  cold  per- 
spiration from  his  face  with  his  coat  sleeve. 
Then  he  got  up  and  walked  to  the  window. 
The  room  seemed  suffocatingly  hot  to  him. 
He  noticed  he  had  left  the  door  open.  After 
peering  a  silent  moment  or  two  down  the 
hall  he  quickly  closed  the  door,  and  would 
have  locked  it,  but  there  was  no  key. 

With  trembling  fingers  he  drew  the  cake 
of  chocolate  from  under  his  blouse.  He  had 
broken  it,  in  his  flight,  and  to  his  horror, 
three   or  four  loose  bits  fell  on   the    floor. 


I 


The  Loom  of  Destiny 

These  he  quickly  gathered  up,  carefully 
brushing  away  the  tell-tale  marks  with  his 
sleeve. 

He  looked  at  his  prize  several  moments 
without  moving.  It  seemed,  of  a  sudden,  to 
have  lost  its  value,  and  he  doubted  if,  after 
all,  chocolate  was  so  nice  as  he  had  thought. 
One  of  the  pieces  he  nibbled  at  timidly. 
The  taste  was  crushingly  disappointing,  for 
it  was  unsweetened.  It  had  all  been  a  mis- 
take. Almost  nauseated,  he  spat  the  sickly 
taste  of  the  stuff  from  his  mouth. 

Then  slowly,  terribly,  it  crept  over  him 
that  he  could  never  eat  this  thing  he  had 
stolen.  Neither  could  he  give  it  back.  Nor 
could  he  carry  it  about  with  him.  Someone 
might  come  in  at  any  time,  —  at  that  very 
moment,  and  catch  him  with  it.  He  wished 
he  had  never  done  it ! 

He  guiltily  stole  downstairs,  and  across 
the  little  back  yard  out  to  the  stables. 
Watching  his  chance,  he  climbed  into  the 
hay-loft  unobserved,  and  buried  the  odious 
pieces  of  stolen  things  deep,  deep  down  in 
the  hay  in  one  corner  of  the  loft. 

96 


t 


The  Crucible  of  Character 

He  was  gazing  drearily,  but  with  tacit 
watchfulness,  from  the  nursery  window  when 
he  heard  the  voice  of  the  cook,  talking  to 
his  mother.  His  heart  stopped  beating. 
The  cook  was  saying  that  someone  had 
stolen  the  chocolate,  this  time  a  whole  cake  ! 
The  boy  sidled  close  to  the  nursery  door  that 
he  might  hear  the  better.  The  cook  said  she 
believed  it  was  that  drunken  James.  Then 
his  mother  said  such  a  thing  was  ridiculous, 
and  that  it  was  n't  really  worth  worrying 
over,  and  that  she  had  better  use  cocoanut 
this  time. 

There  were  great  and  unknown  guests 
that  night  for  dinner,  and  that  meant  that 
Russell  Wentworth  Russell  had  his  meal 
alone  in  the  nursery.  For  the  first  time  in 
his  life  he  was  glad  of  it.  But  so  silent  and 
dejected  and  miserable  was  he  throughout  his 
meal  that  the  mystified  Weston  went  down- 
stairs, and  came  mysteriously  back  with  a  deli- 
cacy she  knew  would  be  a  delightful  surprise. 

Holding  her  hands  laughingly  behind  her, 
she  came  close  to  him  and  thrust  it  suddenly 
upon  his  plate. 

7  97 


V 


i 


\8 


m 


m 


The  Loom  of  Destiny 

It  was  a  huge  piece  of  chocolate  cake. 

The  boy  shrank  back  as  though  Weston 
hsd  struck  him  with  her  hand.  He  flushed 
hot  and  cold,  and  cowered,  vaguely  feeling 
that  Weston  knew  everything  and  was  play- 
ing a  cruel  joke  on  him. 

But  there  was  ''nothing  but  kindly  surprise 
in  Weston's  eyes. 

"  Why,  Russell,  dear,  it  *s  chocolate  !  " 

Russell  neither  spoke  nor  raised  his  eyes. 
There  was  a  choking  lump  in  his  throat,  and 
to  hide  a  sudden  gush  of  tears  he  slipped 
away  from  the  table  and  went  sullenly  up  to 
his  bedroom. 

That  night  there  was  no  sleep  for  Russell 
Wentwcrth  Russell.  For  three  long  hours 
he  turned  and  twisted  in  his  brass  cot,  with 
the  awful  secret  eating  his  heart  out.  He 
was  a  thief,  a  thief,  a  thief!  The  darkness 
seemed  to  scream  it  at  him,  and  the  laugh- 
ing night  seemed  to  know.  In  a  rage  of 
grief  he  smote  his  pillow  with  his  arms  and 
groaned  under  his  breath,  until  he  could  stand 
it  no  longer.  Somebody,  somebody  must  be 
told. 

98 


1^  \ 


id 

d 


I  \ 


The  Crucible  of  Character 

He  sat  up  in  bed.  He  would  go  straight 
to  his  mother  and  tell  her  everything. 

No,  that  would  not  do.  He  was  not  really 
afraid  of  his  mother,  —  it  was  the  unknown 
and  awful  cook.  But,  then,  that  would 
make  it  even*  He  would  go  right  to  the 
cook  and  tell  her.  He  wondered  what  she 
would  do.  The  thought  of  facing  her  filled 
him  with  a  sick  fear,  and  he  lay  back  weakly 
on  his  bed.     No,  he  dare  not  tell  her. 

But  the  Thief!  Thief!  Thief!  started  to 
ring  again  in  his  ears,  and  his  soul  writhed  at 
the  sound.  He  must  do  it.  He  closed  his 
eyes  and  counted  ten.  Then,  with  one  tear- 
ful gulp,  he  slipped  out  of  bed.  He  went  to 
the  door  and  listened.  It  was  terribly  still 
and  dark.  Holding  up  his  nightgown,  he 
stole  down  the  long  hall,  desperately  facing 
the  darkness.  Shadows  and  little  night 
sounds,  that  at  other  times  would  have  shaken 
his  childish  frame  with  thrills  of  terror,  he 
slipped  past  without  even  seeing  or  hearing. 

At  last  he  came  to  the  cook's  door.  Once, 
twice,  three  times  he  knocked  timidly  on 
k.     There  was  no  answer.     Then  he  pushed 

99 


v^ 


I 


1!    5l 


M  \ 


i 


tj 


:i 


The  Loom  of  Destiny 

it  open  and  walked  courageously  in.  The 
cook  was  sleeping  soundly.  He  shook  her 
arm.  She  did  not  move.  He  shook  it  again, 
this  time  desperately.  With  a  startled  cry 
the  cook  opened  her  eyes,  and  sat  up  in  bed. 

"  Why,  Masther  Russell,  what  is  it  ?  "  she 
cried,  peering  through  the  dim  light  that 
came  in  at  the  window.  She  could  see  that 
the  boy's  face  was  as  white  as  his  nightgown. 
As  he  did  not  answer  she  asked  him  again. 
There  was  a  note  of  kindliness  in  her  voice 
at  the  second  query,  for  she  also  saw  that  he 
was  shivering,  and  his  face  was  drawn  and 
tear-stained. 

Twice  he  tried  to  speak  and  could  not. 
The  choking  lump  in  his  throat  seemed  to 
keep  back  the  words.  When  the  sound  did 
break  out,  it  came  in  a  sort  of  sobbing 
scream.  AnH  the  sound  of  that  voice  was 
not  like  the  sound  of  the  voice  of  Russell 
Wentworth  Russell,  though  it  came  from 
his  own  throat. 

"  Cooky  I —  / —  stole  the  chocolate f  " 


ICO 


'II  ■ 


THE   ESSENTIALS   OF 
ARISTOCRACY 

But  agine  they  weeps  an'  agine  they  syes 
As  it  b*aint  our  b/oomin*  fault  ,• 

An*  they  syes  to  us  as  they  ' ands  us  out: 
"  Now  earn  your  bloody  salt !  * ' 


f 


\ 


THE  ESSENTIALS 
OF  ARISTOCRACY 


HE  knew  they  were  to  be  enemies. 
Just  why  he  could  never  have  said, 
but  he  felt  it  in  his  bones  when  their  eyes 
first  met.  Each  of  the  two  boys  seemed  to 
recognise  the  silent  and  mysterious  challenge 
of  combative  childhood. 

The  new  boy's  face  was  shiny  from  soap 
and  hot  water,  and  under  his  arm  he  carried 
his  new  slate  and  a  crisp  yellow-covered 
First  Book.  The  doctor  had  told  his  Aunt 
Martha  that  the  children  oiight  to  be  kept 
out  of  the  way  for  the  next  few  weeks.  His 
Aunt  Martha  had  cruelly  suggested  school 
for  him. 

It  was  with  a  sinking  heart  that  he  felt 
himself  led  relentlessly  up  the  urchin-lined 
walk  of  the  new  Ward  school. 

"  Hello,  kid,  whatcher  name  ? "  asked  a 

103 


i' 


I    .* 


M 


The  Loom  of  Destiny 

lean-legged  boy  with  a  cigarette  stub  in  his 
mouth. 

"  Johnnie  Armstrong,  please,"  replied  the 
new  boy,  almost  tearfully. 

But  that  one  pair  of  challenging  eyes  — 
they  followed  him  right  up  the  walk  and 
into  the  schoolhouse.  There  were  scores 
of  other  audacious  enemies  who  gazed  criti- 
cally at  the  patches  on  his  knees  and  the 
hole  in  the  toe  of  his  boot,  but  in  all  that 
army  of  foes  he  knew  to  the  marrow  in  his 
childish  bones  that  this  one  particular  boy 
was  to  be  his  one  particular  enemy. 

Through  all  the  long,  stifling,  terrible  first 
hour  of  school  life  he  furtively  watched  the 
figure  of  his  fated  opponent. 

During  recess  the  new  boy  hung  about  the 
hallway,  homesick  and  miserable.  He  won- 
dered what  his  Aunt  Martha  and  the  baby 
wer*»  doing.  He  knew  what  his  mother  was 
doing  —  she  was  in  bed  all  the  time,  of 
course,  and  coughing  away  just  the  same  as 
if  he  were  there. 

At  the  end  of  recess,  when  the  bell  rang, 
and  the  screaming,  surging  crowd  of  children 

104 


The  Essentials  of  Aristocracy 

made  the  usual  mad  rush  for  their  rooms,  the 
new  boy  and  the  enemy  came  face  to  face  in 
the  hall.  The  new  boy  was  bunted  vigor- 
ously against  the  wall  as  his  rival  went  past. 
The  new  boy  expected  it.  A  scream  of  de- 
light broke  from  the  groups  of  hurrying  boys 
and  girls  as  they  crowded  past,  or  stopped  a 
moment  to  watch  him  get  up  and  brush  the 
dust  from  his  carefully  patched  clothes. 

For  one  weak  moment,  at  noon,  the  new 
boy  was  tempted  to  slip  out  by  the  girl's 
door,  and  so  escape.  That  would  mean  put- 
ting off  the  fight  for  a  day  at  least. 

One  of  the  girls,  as  she  hurried  out,  saw/ 
he  was  a  new  boy  and  made  a  face  at  him. 
The  malevolence  of  that  grim?ce  turned  him 
precipitately  back.  With  quaking  knees, 
and  a  pitiful  mockery  of  a  whistle,  he  walked 
out  of  the  boys'  door.  The  fight  had  to  be 
that  day ! 

It  was  all  as  he  expected.  //<?,  of  course, 
was  waiting  for  him.  With  a  choking  sick- 
liness at  his  throat  he  made  steadily  for  the 
gate.  Before  he  was  half  way  there  a  jagged 
piece  of  cinder  struck  him  on  the  cheek  with 

105 


) 


:    i 


The  Loom  of  Destiny 

a  stinging  pain.  He  put  up  his  hand  and  felt 
his  face.  It  was  bleeding.  A  surge  of 
something  like  drunkenness  swept  through 
his  frame.  He  did  n't  mind  the  bleeding. 
Now  he  did  n't  care.  He  was  glad  it  really 
was  bleeding.  That  meant  that  they  had 
to  fight  it  out  then  and  there.  He  did  n*t 
mind  fighting,  nor  did  he  mind  getting 
whipped.  But  he  felt  that  he  would  rather 
be  pounded  to  pieces  than  endure  any  longer 
this  uncertainty  of  position.  One  or  the 
other  must  be  boss,  and  boss  for  all  time. 

It  hardly  seemed  his  own  hand  that 
clutched  wildly  for  a  fragment  of  brick  on 
the  ground  and  flung  it  with  all  his  force  at 
the  other  boy.  It  went  wide,  for  it  was 
thrown  in  blind  passion. 

But  it  brought  the  enemy,  bristling  and 
aggressive,  toward   him. 

"  Did  youse  t'row  that  at  me,  kid  ?  **  de- 
manded the  boy  who  had  thrown  the  coal 
cinder.  He  could  not  have  been  a  year 
older  than  the  other. 

"  'Course  I  did !  "  said  the  new  boy,  al- 
most   crying,    but    not    daring    to    show    it. 

io6 


le- 
)al 
;ar 

lal- 
it. 


The  Essentials  of  Aristocracy 

His  voice  sounded  strange  to  him.  He  was 
a  coward  to  the  backbone  ;  and  no  one  knew 
that  better  than  he  himself.  But  his  face 
was  bleeding,  and  he  did  n't  care  now !  And 
he  was  afniid  the  boys  would  find  out  that 
he  really  was  a  coward. 

They  fought.  A  dozen  small  boys  saw 
the  well-known  preliminaries,  and  ran  joy- 
fully toward  the  two,  screaming  as  they 
came,  "  A  fight !  a  fight !  "  A  man  in  an 
express  waggon  puller"  up  to  look  down  on 
the  struggle,  and  two  or  three  girls  watched 
open-mouthed  from  the  sidewalk. 

When  the  teacher  came  out  of  the  school 
gate,  five  minutes  later,  she  saw  a  group  of 
small  boys  scurry  suspiciously  away.  One 
boy  limped  —  for  kicking  had  been  allowed 
—  and  the  other  left  little  drops  of  blood 
here  and  there  on  the  sidewalk  as  he  ran. 
It  had  not  been  to  a  finish,  but  the  skinny, 
narrow-chested  new  boy  had  surprised  them 
all.  As  for  the  new  boy  himself,  he  was  su- 
premely thankful  that  he  was  even  alive. 

His  misery  came  back  to  him  with  a  dead- 
ening  rush  when   he  remembered   that   he 

107 


i 


I 


The  Loom  of  Destiny 

must  show  himself  at  home.  He  crawled, 
snail-like,  in  at  the  back  door  and  listened. 
The  doctor  was  there,  and  he  was  glad  of  it. 
He  was  also  glad  when  his  Aunt  Martha 
told  him  that  he  must  not  go  in  and  see  his 
mother.  He  could  hear  her  coughing  feebly, 
and  the  baby  crying  for  something  to  eat. 
As  his  aunt  went  into  his  mother's  room  with 
a  hot-water  bottle,  she  called  back  for  him 
to  take  some  fried  potatoes  and  hash  off  the 
stove  and  eat  his  dinner.  He  did  as  he  was 
told,  and  hurried  away  before  his  aunt  came 
out  again.  His  face  was  still  blood-stained 
and  scratched. 

Sick  at  heart,  he  slouched  back  to  school. 
In  the  yard  one  of  the  boys  said :  "  You 
licked  'm,  Johnnie." 

"  Naw,  he  did  n't,  neither,"  said  another. 
"  Jim  had  'im  bleedin'." 

"  Aw  gwan !  that  was  n't  in  the  fight ! 
That  'uz  when  he  chucked  the  cinder  at  'im. 
You  had  'im  dead  skart  in  the  fight,  did  n't 
you,  Johnnie  ? " 

"  'Course  I  did,"  said  Johnnie  Armstrong, 
stoutly,  though  he  knew  he  was  lying. 

1 08 


The  Essentials  of  Aristocracy 

"  'Course,"  said  another  boy.  "  There 's 
Jim,   now,  skart  to  come  over ! " 

Deliciously  it  dawned  on  him.  It  was 
a  revelation  to  the  new  boy.  Jim  was  skulk- 
ing up  the  side  of  the  school  yard,  with  all 
the  old,  insolent  air  of  aggression  gone  from 
his  limping  gait.  Then  he  had  licked  him 
after  all !  The  little  narrow  chest  of  the 
new  boy  swelled  with  pride. 

But  this  was  by  no  means  the  end  of  the 
battle.  From  that  day  the  struggle  for  su- 
premacy merely  took  on  another  form.  The 
defeated  boy  realised  that  a  physical  en- 
counter was  entirely  out  of  the  question.  So 
the  warfare  for  relative  rank,  since  there  was 
no  other  way  to  fight  it  out,  became  a  battle 
of  tongues. 

Jimmie  Carson  told  the  girls  of  the  school 
that  Johnnie  Armstrong  wore  his  Aunt 
Martha's  stockings.  Johnnie  writhed  in 
spirit,  for  he  knew  this  was  sadly  true.  But 
he  gave  his  enemy  the  lie,  and  openly  de- 
clared that  Jimmie  Carson's  father  had  been 
put  in  jail  for  stealing  a  horse.  This,  too, 
was  equally  true.     But  Jimmie  retorted   by 

109 


\l 


hit 


The  Loom  of  Destiny 

saying  he  woul  J  n't  wear  patches  on  his  pants. 
Johnnie  once  more  regained  his  superiority 
by  pointing  out  that  he  did  n*t  have  to  wear 
his  sister's  old   shoes. 

So  day  by  day  the  struggle  went  on. 
Johnnie  Armstrong  seemed  to  be  getting  the 
worst  of  it,  until  he  remembered  something 
that  was  as  a  Blucher  for  his  Waterloo. 

With  a  great  air  he  said  to  his  enemy  : 
"  The  doctor  comes  to  our  house  every  day." 
The  circle  of  listening  urchins  heard  the 
remark  with  a  certain  awe.  With  them  that 
meant  either  a  baby  or  a  funeral. 

"  Oh,  that  *s  nothing"  said  the  enemy. 
"  My  ma  had  three  doctors  when  Tommie 
swallowed  the  penny."  A  chorus  of  wonder 
went  up  from  the  listening  circle. 

Johnnie  snorted.  "  H'gh  !  A  penny 's 
nothin* !     My  mother 's  got  consumption  !  " 

"  I  don't  care  if  she  has.  Mine  gets  chills 
ind  fever  jus*  terrible  !  " 

Johnnie  felt  that  dangerous  surge  sweep 
over  him. 

"  Yes,  but  my  mother  coughs  all  day  long, 
and  has  night  sweats,  and  her  medicine  costs 

no 


'P 


The  Essentials  of  Aristocracy 

about  —  about  —  well,  about  three  dollars  a 
bottle." 

"  H*gh  !  What  *s  that  !  When  my  ma 
gets  one  of  her  spells  it  *s  just  awful.  She 
shakes  so  hard  someone  has  to  hold  her  in 
bed  !  " 

Again  Johnnie  snorted  his  contempt. 

"  The  doctor  told  my  Aunt  Martha  my 
mother  was  going  to  cough  herself  to  pieces, 
and  that  she  might  die  any  single  day.'* 

That  rather  staggered  Jimmic  Carson.  A 
voice  back  in  the  crowd  said,  "  Hurrah  for 
Johnnie  !  "  and  the  new  boy's  chest  swelled 
with  the  old  pride. 

"  And  she  can't  ever  get  better,"  went  on 
the  exultant  Johnnie.  "  And  I  '11  ride  in  a 
cab,  see,  same  as  I  did  at  grandpa's  funeral !  " 

The  enemy  recovered  himself.  "  Oh, 
ridin'  in  a  cab  ain't  nothin'.  I  watched  my 
grandpa  die  !  And  Uncle  Jake  was  killed, 
too.  He  was  a  fireman,  and  they  brought 
him  home  on  a  board,  after  a  wall  fell  right 
over  on  top  of  him,  and  he  was  all  bleedin' 
terrible,  and  smashed  up  !  " 

A    well-merited    cheer    from    the    circle 

III 


\i> 


(i 


/: 


11 


The  Loom  of  Destiny 

^^reeted  this  sally.  The  school  bell  rang  be- 
fore Johnnie  Armstrong  had  a  chance  to 
meet  the  crushing  charge.  The  children 
scampered  away  and  Johnnie's  head  fell. 
All  afternoon  the  sense  of  his  defeat  hung 
ever  him  and  made  him  miserable. 

Late  in  the  day  there  came  a  knock  at  the 
door  and  the  teacher  was  called  out. 

As  the  teacher  stepped  in  again  Johnnie 
noticed  his  Aunt  Martha  in  the  hall.  She 
was  holding  a  handkerchief  up  to  her  eyes. 

The  teacher  called  Johnnie  up  to  her  desk. 
There  she  started  to  tell  him  something, 
stopped,  slipped  her  arms  around  him,  and 
burst  out  crying,  to  the  wonder  of  the  entire, 
open-eyed  school.  Johnnie  turned  crimson 
with  shame.  To  be  seen  with  a  woman 
petting  one  was  a  terrible  and  awful  thing  to 
him.     Jimmie  Carson  giggled  audibly. 

The  teacher  wiped  away  her  tears,  kissed 
the  child  sorrowfully,  and  falteringly  whis- 
pered something   in   his   ear. 

She  expected  an  outburst,  but  there  was 
none,  not  even   a  sob. 

As  the  child  walked  down  to  his  desk  for 

112 


The  Essentials  of  Aristocracy 

his  little  book  and  slate,  there  was  a  strange, 
exultant  gleam  on  his  face.  All  the  eyes  of 
the  school  were  upon  him,  but  he  saw  only 
those  of  the  enemy. 

The  sense  of  his  defeat  still  hung  over  him. 
As  he  passed .  the  other  boy  he  looked  down 
at  him,  as  from  a  height. 

"  Say,  Johnnie,  what's  wrong  ?  "  v/hispered 
his  foe,  curiosity  overruling  pride. 

There  was  a  ring  of  mingled  sorrow  and 
triumph  in  the  voice  of  Johnnie  as  he  said : 

"  My  mother  *s  dead,  see  !  " 

"  Gosh  !  "  said  Jimmie,  overcome.  John- 
nie knew  he  had  won  at  last.  Every  eye 
in  the  school-room  was  on  him  as  he  went 
out. 

In  the  hall  his  Aunt  Martha  was  waiting 
to  take  him  home,  with  her  handkerchief  still 
over  her  eyes. 


8 


II 


I 


y 


i 


i  i 


f 


THE    HONOUR    OF    THE    HOUSE 
OF  HUM  MERLE  Y 

An'  some  as  this,  an'  some  as  that, 
We  drifts  to  th'  ends  of  tb'  Earth; 

An*  if  One  turns  'Ome,  it's  Ten  forgets: 
ff'ich  shows  their  gawdless  birth! 


!  I  i< 


HIS  real  name  was  Hugh  Edward 
Hummerley,  but  they  called  him 
Tiddlywinks  for  short. 

As  the  son  of  an  English  major  who  once 
had  fought  real  battles  in  India,  and  who 
now  built  the  biggest  bridges  and  the  deepest 
canals  in  all  the  world,  Tiddlywinks  took  life 
very  seriously.  Eighteen  years  in  the  Service 
had  given  Tiddlywinks'  papa  very  deen- 
rooted  ideas  on  the  value  of  discipline,  and 
people  pitied  Tiddlywinks,  as  a  rule,  and  said 
that  his  father  was  too  strict  with  the  child. 
But  then  people  did  n*t  understand.  He 
might  have  been  just  a  little  afraid  of  his  papa 
at  times,  knowing  that  his  spoken  word  was 
Law,  but  for  all  that  the  child  loved  him 
with  a  love  that  was  unutterable  in  its  depth. 

So  when  Major  Hi.iimerley  started  away 

117 


If 


'    '! 


*!l 


7 

i 


i\ 


The  Loom  of  Destiny 

from  Lonehurst  for  two  years,  to  build  one 
of  his  wonderful  canals  somewhere  in  South 
America,  which  was  almost  as  far  away  as 
India  itself,  Tiddlywinks  was  unspeakably 
heavy  of  heart.  His  papa,  in  saying  good- 
bye, had  pointed  out  to  him  that  he  would 
be  the  only  man  left  at  home,  as  Harrington, 
his  big  brother,  was  at  Princeton  most  of  the 
year,  and  could  not  be  around  to  take  care 
of  things.  Harrington  was  really  not  his 
brother,  but  just  his  step-brother,  for  his  own 
mother  was  not  much  older  than  Hal ;  but 
then  it  was  just  the  same  as  being  brothers. 

So  when  Tiddlywinks  remembered  that  he 
was  the  only  man  left  with  his  mother  at 
Lonehurst,  it  was  natural  he  should  regard 
himself  as  the  guardian  and  protector  of  the 
house  of  Hummerley,  and  consequently  take 
both  life  and  himself  quite  seriously. 

But  over  and  above  all  this,  when  his  papa 
was  saying  those  last  good-byes  to  the  weep- 
ing and  broken-hearted  Tiddlywinks  and  his 
mamma,  he  laughingly  told  the  child  that 
thereafter  it  should  be  his  grave  and  solemn 
duty  to  look  after  and  watch  over  his  mother, 

ii8 


l! 


The  Honour  of  Hummerley 

and  always  be  good  to  her  and  make  her 
happy.  Being  the  only  man  at  home,  his 
father  went  on  with  mock-seriousness,  it  was 
expected  that  he,  Tiddlywinks,  should  carry 
out  these  last  despatches  and  duly  deliver  the 
said  mamma  safely  over  into  his  hands  at  the 
end  of  the  two  years.  All  of  this  the  weep- 
ing and  unhappy  Tiddlywinks  took  with  the 
utmost  seriousness,  and  solemnly  promised  to 
do,  even  though  his  father  laughed  as  he  bent 
down  and  kissed  Tiddlywinks'  mamma  on 
the  cheek,  as  the  brougham  came  round  the 
drive  and  the  boxes  were  piled  on  the  seat. 

Tiddlywinks  finished  his  weep,  neverthe- 
less, for  he  loved  his  father  with  a  mighty 
love,  and  his  heart  was  aching  with  the 
thought  of  being  left  alone  in  the  big  house. 
He  knew  that  as  soon  as  Hal  went  back  to 
Princeton  a  terrible  loneliness  would  settle 
down  on  that  homestead  of  Hummerley. 
He  was  not  really  alone,  of  course,  but  then, 
he  had  always  been  half  afraid  of  his  mamma, 
who  always  wore  the  most  wonderful  and 
beautiful  dresses,  and  had  never  been  the 
same  to  him  since  the  summer  she  left  him 

119 


::1 


\i\ 


u 

II 


The  Loom  of  Destiny 

with  the  German  nurse  and  went  away, 
across  the  ocean,  for  a  whole  year.  Since 
then  she  seemed  to  be  always  telling  poor 
Tiddlywinks  to  be  careful  and  not  soil 
her  lace  when  he  wanted  to  hug  her,  and 
that  it  was  rude  to  stare  at  people,  and  that 
he  ought  not  to  play  in  the  se.vants'  hall. 
In  fact,  he  had  to  forsake  his  baby  ways, 
and  in  time  they  forgot  to  call  each  other 
"  Heart's  Desire ;  "  and  though  they  ate  and 
walked  and  talked  together,  they  drifted  apart 
and  became  as  strangers.  The  boy  soon 
learned  to  give  her  only  a  formal  little  kiss, 
on  the  cheek  or  forehead,  very  much  as  his 
papa  did.  In  time,  even  this  occurred  only 
on  the  necessary  occasions,  which  were,  of 
course,  when  he  was  brought  down  in  the 
morning,  and  again  at  night,  before  he  went 
to  bed. 

It  was  no  wonder  then  that  Tiddlywinks, 
in  his  utter  loneliness,  used  to  steal  down  to 
the  forbidden  servants*  hall  and  lavish  his 
love  on  the  portly  but  good-hearted  cook, 
who  gave  him,  in  return  for  his  affection, 
such  quantities  of  cream-pufFs,  and  custards. 


I20 


\' 


fks, 

to 

jhis 

|ok, 

Ms, 


The  Honour  of  Hummerley 

and  pickles,  and  oranges,  and  cakes,  that  he 
used  to  get  a  stomach-ache  four  days  out  of 
seven. 

Of  course,  it  was  all  different  when  Hal- 
came  home  from  Princeton.  Hal  was  such 
a  jolly  fellow  and  did  whatever  he  liked.  He 
had  taught  Tiddlywinks  how  to  put,  and 
used  to  take  him  riding  and  show  him  how 
to  smoke,  and  laughed  uproariously  whenever 
he  choked.  Tiddlywinks,  indeed,  loved  Hal 
so  much  that  three  times  he  had  smoked  him- 
self sick,  when  Hal  had  shown  Lees-Smith 
what  a  jolly  fine  smoker  Tiddlywinks  was, 
all  for  Hal's  sake.  Besides  this,  he  had  shot 
off  Hal's  gun  five  times,  and  had  even  been 
allowed  to  go  fishing  with  him,  and  pull  in 
the  little  ones,  which  sometimes  were  awfully 
hard  to  get.  The  three  times  that  Tiddly- 
winks  had  made  up  his  mind  to  run  away  and 
be  a  Spanish  Pirate,  or  some  other  awful 
Being,  and  was  caught  each  time  and  put  to 
bed  in  disgrace,  were  not,  you  may  know, 
when  Hal  was  at  home.  Hal  even  used  to 
make  his  mamma  allow  Tiddlywinks  to  stay 
up  at  night  and  listen  while  they  sang,  for 


Ml 

ill 


121 


i  I 


I    i 


The  Loom  of  Destiny 

Tiddlywinks*  mamma  sang  beautifully.  Hal, 
of  course,  sang  beautifully  too,  —  but  then, 
Hal's  singing  was  so  different.  When  his 
mamma  sang  it  used  to  make  him  think  of 
the  angels  in  the  window  at  the  end  of  the 
Cathedral,  only  he  knew  that  real  angels  did 
not  wear  lace,  and  would  let  you  kiss  and  hug 
them  as  often  as  you  wanted  to.  At  least, 
angels  never  made  you  afraid  of  them,  anyway. 
There  was  one  particular  man,  with  an 
iron-grey  moustache  and  thin  grey  hair,  who 
used  to  come  to  dinner  at  Tiddlywinks'  house 
a^d  stay  in  the  evenings  to  hear  his  mamma 
sing.  Tiddlywinks  hated  this  man  with  all 
the  fervour  of  his  childish  heart.  James,  the 
coachman,  once  told  him  that  this  man  was 
a  General,  and  a  greater  man  than  his  own 
papa,  —  a  thing  which  Tiddlywinks  could 
never  believe.  Still,  he  was  very  tall  and 
very  straight,  and  used  to  frown  at  Tiddly- 
winks,  and  then  turn  and  smile  at  his  mamma; 
and  naturally  the  unsophisticated  little  Tiddly- 
winks  always  used  to  wonder  what  right  this 
Man  with  the  Bald  Head  had  to  look  in  his 
mamma's   eyes  and    smile  so  affectionately. 

122 


The  Honour  of  Hummcrley 

It  made  his  lonely  little  heart  burn  with 
jealousy.  At  first  he  used  to  think  the  man 
was  an  ogre,  because  his  teeth  were  so  white, 
but  when  he  told  this  to  his  mamma,  she 
called  him  a  wicked  little  boy  for  talking  so 
dreadfully  about  a  nice,  kind  gentleman. 

However,  Tiddlywinks  was  steadfast  in 
his  hate,  and  it  was  with  all  his  soul  that  he 
hated  this  Man  with  the  Bald  Head.  One 
day  he  heard  the  cook  say  that  that  man  had 
no  business  around  the  house  so  often,  shak- 
ing her  head  very  ominously  as  she  made  the 
remark  to  Sally,  the  maid. 

After  that,  Tiddlywinks*  life  was  one  of 
endless  anxiety  and  watchfulness.  He  had  a 
vague  idea  that  the  Ogre  was  going  to  burn 
down  the  stables  some  night,  or  carry  off  the 
silver-ware,  or  steal  his  mamma.  Had  his 
papa  not  told  him  to  take  good  care  of  her  ? 
In  his  extremity  he  stole  Hal's  gun  and  hid 
it  under  his  bed.  There  it  was  found  a  few 
days  later  by  Sally,  the  housemaid,  whereupon 
Tiddlywinks  was  once  more  sent  early  to  bed, 
and  all  but  set  down  as  an  incorrigible  little 
murderer. 

123 


)] 


a 
s 


i  \ 


ii 


i  I 


/  1    i 


r'    '; 


The  Loom  of  Destiny 

Tiddlywinks  said  nothing,  but  he  watched 
the  tall  man  with  the  white  teeth  as  a  cat 
watches  a  mouse.  Even  his  mamma  at 
last  noticed  it,  and  made  it  a  rule  to  send  him 
up  to  bed  immediately  dinner  was  finished. 
There  he  used  to  roll  and  toss,  and  think  of 
the  burning  injustice  of  it  all,  and  wonder 
what  his  papa  would  say  if  he  only  knew. 
Then  he  would  sit  up  in  bed  and  listen  to  the 
sound  of  the  music,  while  his  mamma  was 
singing  down  in  the  drawing-room.  He  was 
passionately  fond  of  hearing  his  mamma  sing, 
and  after  a  time  he  grew  bolder  and  used  to 
go  out  and  stand  at  the  banister  of  the  stair- 
way and  listen.  Then  he  would  steal  down- 
stairs, and  even  creep  up  the  dim  hallway,  and 
push  under  the  portiere  and  stand  there  mo- 
tionless, in  his  long,  white  nightgown,  listen- 
ing with  rapt  attention.  As  soon  as  he  saw  the 
music  was  ending,  he  would  slip  back  through 
the  doorway  and  run  shivering  up  to  bed. 

One  night,  as  he  climbed  the  stairs  after 
the  singing  had  come  to  an  end,  he  stopped 
and  listened,  for  he  heard  his  mamma  talking 
in  a  frightened  way. 

124 


The  Honour  of  Hummerley 

"  Don't,  don't,  Reginald  !  "  he  heard  her 
cry, "  for  my  sake,  for  your  own,  don't  tempt 


me." 

Then  the  Ogre,  the  great,  tall,  white- 
toothed  Ogre,  said  something  about  how 
much  he  loved  her. 

"  No,  no  !  "  his  mamma  answered,  "  I  shall 
not,  —  I  must  —  Oh,  God  !  what  shall  I 
do!" 

That  was  all  he  listened  to.  He  crept 
up  to  bed.  He  knew  he  had  been  a  sneak 
for  listening  to  other  people  talking.  Hal 
would  never  have  done  that !  But  he  had 
not  meant  to.  He  said  to  himself  over  and 
over  again  that  he  had  not  meant  to.  Yet 
now  he  knew  it  all.  His  mamma  did  n't 
love  him  because  she  loved  the  Ogre.  That 
was  it,  she  loved  the  Ogre.  Then  his 
mamma  was  wicked.  And  he  had  prom- 
ised his  papa  that  he  would  take  care  of  her  ! 
What  would  he  say  when  he  came  home 
and  found  out  ?     What  would  he  say  ? 

In  his  misery  he  got  up  and  knelt  by  his 
bed,  and  said  every  prayer  he  knew.  After 
his  solitary  little  childish  heart  had  argued  it 


41 


il 


'i'  i 


I 
I 


The  Loom  of  Destiny 

out  that  night,  he  said  he  would  send  for 
Hal.  Good  old  Hal  would  come  and  tell 
him  what  to  do.  Hal  knew  so  well  how  to 
do  things. 

The  next  morning  Tiddlywinks  contrived 
to  avoid  kissing  his  mamma.  It  was  a 
mockeiy  he  would  go  through  no  longer,  for 
she  was  wicked  and  loved  the  Ogre.  By 
noon  he  had  s.  nt  a  letter  ofF  to  Princtto*:,  to 
Hal.  The  cook  had  addressed  the  envelope 
for  him,  and  he  had  sat  down  and,  with  great 
labour  and  infinite  pains,  had  secretly  penned 
the  first  letter  of  his  lifetime.  It  was  just 
five  words:  "Der  Hal  come  horn  quick." 
Then  he  sneaked  out  to  the  stables  and  gave 
it  to  James  to  post,  along  with  seven  pre- 
cious pennies  as  a  bribe  to  silence.  All  that 
day  Tiddlywinks  did  not  care  for  even  cream- 
pufFs  or  cheese-cakes,  and  the  cook  told  Sally 
the  housemaid  that  she  knew  Tiddlywinks 
was  getting  the  measles  or  scarlatina  —  she 
could  n't  say  which  —  he  was  so  quiet,  and 
worse  than  that,  had  calmly  declined  to 
scrape  out  the  ice-cream  freezer  ! 

When   he  sat   down  to  dinner  that  night, 

126 


The  Honour  of  Hummerley 

Tiddlywinks  was  studiously  and  remarkably 
silent.  The  Ogre  was  there  as  usual,  but 
the  child  scarcely  dared  co  look  in  his  face, 
lest  the  Ogre  should  see  how  he  hated  him. 
He  knew  it  was  useless  for  him  to  try  to 
hide  it.  All  the  while  the  Ogre  was  eating 
his  fish,  the  child  was  silently,  ridiculously 
praying,  "  Please,  God,  choke  this  wicked 
Ogre  to  death  with  a  fish-bone !  Please, 
God,  choke  him ;  choke  him  —  choke  him 
dead  ! "  until  it  ran  through  his  little  mind 
in  a  sort  of  musical  refrain.  When  the 
Ogre  finished  his  trout  without  choking, 
Tiddlywinks  knew  that  even  God  himself 
had  deserted  him. 

After  that  he  felt  a  mysterious  desire  to 
fling  the  salad -bowl  at  the  Ogre's  head  — 
just  on  the  little  shiny,  bald  spot.  The  child 
wondered  if  the  great  heavy,  cut-glass  bowl 
with  the  sharp  points  would  kill  the  man  dead 
if  it  hit  him  on  the  right  spot. 

At  last  dinner  was  over,  and  Tiddlywinks 
got  down  from  his  chair  and  was  walking  out 
of  the  room,  when  his  mother  called  him 
back. 

127 


I* 


I 

i 


The  Loom  of  Destiny 

"  You  have  not  kissed  me  to-night,  darl- 
ing ! "  she  said.  Tiddlywinks  was  silent. 
"  Will  you  not  kiss  mamma,  dear  ?  "  she 
asked,  as  she  came  over  to  where  he  stood, 
defiant,  yet  miserable,  looking  down  stolidly 
at  the  pattern  in  the  carpet. 

"  You  may  easily  find  a  too  willing  sub- 
stitute," murmured  the  man  at  the  table. 
Tiddlywink's  mother  turned  pale,  and  raised 
her  finger  at  the  man  in  a  frightened  way. 

"  Very  well,  Tiddlywinks,"  she  said  with 
a  sigh,  "  I  shall  not  make  you  do  so." 

When  the  child  had  gone  to  bed  with  a 
swelling  heart,  she  sat  thinking  for  a  long 
time,  until  the  man's  voice  roused  her  and 
they  went  into  the  library  for  cofFee. 

Tiddlywinks*  mother  sang  that  evening  as 
she  had  never  sung  before.  The  lonely 
child  in  his  bed  heard  her,  crept  down  the 
stairs,  and  sat  for  a  long  time  on  the  bottom 
step,  listening.  Then  the  music  seemed  to 
charm  him,  luring  him  through  the  doorway, 
and  he  stood  there  in  the  shadow,  a  motion- 
less little  bare-footed  figure  in  white. 

"  She  must  be  one  of  the  angels,  after  all," 

128 


as 

the 
>m 
to 


)n- 


>» 


The  Honour  of  Hummerley 

thought  Tiddlywinks,  as  he  listened  ;  and  as 
the  Ogre  stood  beside  her  and  bent  over  her, 
it  seemed  to  the  child  that  he  could  be  none 
other  than  the  Supreme  Ruler  of  the  Bad 
Place. 

When  the  song  was  finished,  not  one  of 
the  three  persons  in  the  room  moved. 
Tiddlywinks    was    almost  afraid  to  breathe. 

After  a  long  pause,  he  saw  the  tall  man 
with  the  grey  moustache  suddenly  bend  down 
and  put  his  arms  around  his  mother.  And 
his  mother,  his  very  own  mother,  leaned  her 
head  back  in  one  long,  long  kiss.  Tiddly- 
winks  shuddered.  By  mere  human  intuition 
he  knew  it  was  wrong.  He  was  only  a 
child,  a  mere  baby,  but  he  thought  of  his 
father,  and  of  his  own  promise,  and  the  pas- 
git.*,  of  the  murderer  went  tingling  through 
M  ii'Msh  veins.  It  was  the  instinct  in  him 
to  prou«~rt  his  own  —  just  as  he  had  once 
bitten  his  German  nursemaid  for  burning 
his  nigger  doll. 

He  stole  in  on  his  noiseless  bare  feet,  over 
to  the  grate  where  the  shining  brass  poker 
lr...ned  against  the  metal.  It  was  nearly  as 
9  129 


!'   I 


!l    .1 


U       I 


The  Loom  of  Destiny 

long  as  the  child  himself,  and  it  was  tremen- 
dously heavy,  but  while  the  Ruler  of  the  Bad 
Place  was  still  trying  to  kiss  his  mother's 
soul  into  the  Place  of  Crawling  Things,  by 
that  one  long  embrace,  he  lifted  the  poker 
with  both  hands  and  brought  it  down  with 
all  his  fore  "  on  the  little,  shiny,  bald  spot 
on  the  man*s  d.  After  all,  it  was  not  a 
very  heavy  blow,  but  the  man  fell  to  the 
floor  like  a  log.  Tiddlywinks*  mother  saw 
the  bleeding  man,  and  the  child,  all  in  white, 
standing  over  him,  gave  one  short  scream, 
and  fainted.  Then  the  poker  fell  from 
Tiddlywinks'  hands,  and  he  turned  and  fled. 
He  did  not  stop  until  he  came  to  his  own 
room.  There  he  flung  himself  on  his  bed, 
and  writhed  in  the  awful  consciousness  of 
having  killed,  as  he  thought,  two  human 
beings. 

When  Hal  came  hurrying  home  by  the 
night  train,  knowing  something  was  wrong, 
he  found  Tiddlywinks  still  sobbing  away  as  if 
his  heart  would  break.  Then  Hal  and  his 
mother  had  a  long,  long  talk,  shut  up  together 

130 


the 
[rong, 

as  if 
Id  bis 

rether 


The  Honour  of  Hummerley 

down  in  the  library.  A  few  moments  later 
Tiddlywinks  heard  some  one  open  the  door 
very  softly,  and  the  first  thing  be  knew, 
somebody  was  crying  over  him.  It  was  his 
"  Heart's  Desire."  Then  the  two  got 
down  on  their  knees  and  said  their  prayers 
together,  for  she  was  still  a  young  woman, 
and  had  been  very  lonely.  After  that  she 
drew  him  to  her  breast  and  murmured  mother 
nonsense  to  him  until  he  fell  asleep,  and 
there  was  even  a  tear  or  two  on  her  face 
when  she  finally  tucked  him  in. 

But  what  Harrington  Hummerley  and  his 
mother  talked  of  when  she  went  down  to  the 
library  again,  no  one  shall  ever  know,  although 
the  next  day  a  long,  tear-stained  letter  was  on 
its  way  to  South  America,  where  a  certain 
grey-eyed  major  was  building  one  of  his 
wonderful  canals. 

As  for  the  Ogre,  he  went  away  and 
never  came  back  again,  for  Hal  was  tackle 
in  his  college  team,  and  when  a  Princeton 
"  Tackle  "  once  knocks  a  man  down  —  well 
—  he  never  comes  begging  about  for  a 
second  experience. 


I    ! 


fl 


a 


The  Loom  of  Destiny 

And  now  Tiddlywinks  kisses  and  hugs  and 
mauls  his  mamma  as  much  and  as  often  as 
he  pleases,  and  they  call  each  other  "  Heart's 
Desire"  once  more,  and  though  he  leaves  a 
dozen  smudges  on  her  very  best  gown,  why 
should  anything  be  said  of  a  little  thing  like 
that  ? 

In  fact,  Hal  took  Tiddlywinks  to  Prince- 
ton with  him  for  a  few  days,  and  when  they 
came  back  James,  the  coachman,  was  in- 
formed by  wire  that  Major  Hummerley  was 
forwarding  by  steamer  "  Colombo  "  one  live 
alligator.  This  was  duly  handed  over  to 
Tiddlywinks  on  his  seventh  birthday,  with 
the  information  that  her  name  was  Flora,  and 
that  the  same  was  for  carrying  out  the  in- 
structions of  a  superior  officer. 

But  the  cook  always  insisted  on  the  point 
that  there  was  such  a  thing  as  making  a  child 
take  life  too  seriously. 


I J 


132 


THICKER  THAN  WATER 


An'  you  tawks  of'Ome  an'  tb'  \ins  of'Ome, 

But  I  syes  *ere,  over  my  grog. 
As  there  ain't  no  smell  like  a  Lun'non  smell. 

An'  tb'  stink  of  a  Lun'nonfog! 


;    ( 


GEORGIE  was  sadly  disappointed  in 
America,  and  he  made  no  bones  about 
it.  When  he  had  first  been  told  that  he  was 
going  to  New  York  for  three  whole  months, 
they  —  that  is,  Georgie  and  his  family  —  were 
living  down  near  Weymouth.  So  day  after 
day  he  used  to  stand  on  the  Channel  cliffs  and 
look  out  at  the  great  ships  passing  back  and 
forth  and  wonder  just  which  ones  were  going 
to  America, —  America  the  wonderful,  the  un- 
known,—  and  just  how  long  it  would  take 
them,  and  if  it  was  really  true  that  the  world 
was  round,  and  that  though  they  kept  on  and 
on  and  on  for  ever  they  could  never  come  to 
where  the  sun  went  down  over  the  edge  of 
Everything. 

Georgie  did  not  understand  exactly  why  his 
father  was  going  to  America,  but  he  knew  well 

135 


II 


The  Loom  of  Destiny 

enough  that  it  had  something  to  do  with  the 
killing  of*  seals  away  up  near  the  North  Pole, 
and  to  find  out  why  it  was  wrong  for  some 
people  to  kill  them  and  not  for  others.  He 
also  knew  that  his  father  was  a  Great  Man,  and 
did  much  toward  keeping  the  Empire  intact. 
So  Georgie  could  not  contain  himself 
when  his  father  had  promised  to  let  him  stay 
with  his  Uncle  Charley  in  New  York  while  the 
Great  Man  himself  mysteriously  went  on  to 
Washington,  to  find  out  things  about  the  seals. 
Georgie's  father  had  even  gone  further  than 
this,  and  bought  him  an  air-gun,  to  shoot 
Wild  Indians.  Georgie  could  not  hear  Amer- 
ica mentioned  without  dreaming  of  Wild 
Indians.  He  had  seen  Buffalo  Bill  at  the 
Olympia  in  London,  of  course,  and  there  he 
had  first  vaguely  learned  what  a  wonderful 
place  America  really  was.  The  thought 
of  having  an  air-gun  and  going  to  a  land 
where  there  were  all  the  Wild  Indians  one 
wanted  to  shoot  seemed  very  delightful  to 
Georgie,  and  even  the  Captain  on  the  steamer 
told  him  just  how  to  capture  Indians  and 
where  the  best  place  for  buffaloes  was.     The 

136 


\& 


the 
;  be 
srful 
^ught 
land 
one 
tul  to 
tamer 
and 
The 


Thicker  than  Water 

Captain's  stories  sometimes  frightened  Georgie 
a  bit,  but  then  he  practised  with  his  air-gun 
every  day,  on  porpoises,  and  the  Captain 
acknowledged  that  Indians  weren't  a  bit 
harder  to  shoot  than  porpoises,  only  you  can 
never  tell,  of  course,  just  when  you  do  hit  a 
porpoise. 

So  when  Georgie  and  his  air-gun  landed  in 
New  York  and  he  found  that  city  a  place  with 
houses  in  it  very  much  like  London,  and  was 
taken  to  his  Uncle  Charley's  home  and  found 
it  very  much  like  their  own  house  in  Portland 
Place,  though  not  quite  so  gloomy-looking, 
he  was  disappointed  beyond  words.  Here  his 
father  left  him  and  hurried  away  to  Washing- 
ton. Now  he  had  been  three  weeks  in 
America  and  had  not  seen  one  Wild  Indian  f 

In  fact,  instead  of  being  the  hunter,  Georgie 
had  been  the  hunted.  When  he  had  loaded 
up  his  air-gun  and  made  his  appearance  on  the 
street,  a  number  of  very  dirty  boys  made  fun 
of  his  Eton  jacket  and  his  white  collar  and  his 
little  dicer,  and  called  him  "  monkey,"  and 
threw  things  at  him,  and  forced  him  to  beat 
a  hasty  retreat  homeward. 

137 


) 

n 


The  Loom  of  Destiny 

The  injustice  of  this  stirred  up  Georgie's 
blood,  and  he  fought  with  one  of  his  assailants, 
whereupon  the  rest,  in  defiance  of  all  principles 
of  warfare  hitherto  recognised  by  Georgie,  at- 
tacked him  vigorously  from  behind,  and  sent 
him  home  with  ruined  clothes  and  a  good  deal 
of  blood  on  his  white  collar. 

There  Georgie  found  it  best  to  remain.  He 
could  not  make  his  Uncle  Charley  see  why  an 
English-born  boy  should  tog  himself  out  like 
American  children  simply  because  he  was 
spending  a  few  months  in  America,  though 
Georgie  pointed  out  to  his  absent-minded  old 
uncle  that  his  English  knickerbockers  were  so 
dreadfully  baggy  at  the  knees  that  street 
urchins  naturally  yelled  "  English  Bloke " 
after  him  and  offered  to  do  battle  with  him 
on  every  occasion. 

So  there  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  stay 
a^  home.  He  at  least  had  the  court,  or, 
as  Thomson  called  it,  the  back  yard.  This 
back  yard  was  not  large,  but  Georgie  made 
the  most  of  it.  A  high  board  fence,  over 
which  a  few  withered  morning-glories  climbed, 
shut  it  in  from  the  rest  of  the  world,  and  added 

138 


Thicker  than  Water 


»» 


Ided 


to  its  air  of  desolation.  Occasionally,  but  not 
often,  a  cat  appeared,  and  this  was  always  shot 
at  and  always  missed  by  the  owner  of  the  air- 
gun. 

So  Georgie  lived  a  life  of  absolute  and  un- 
broken loneliness,  knowing  he  could  find  no 
companionship  on  the  streets,  and  realising 
that  he  was  among  aliens.  He  could  not  help 
remembering  those  long  golden  summer  days 
at  Weymouth,  where  he  used  to  watch  the 
Channel  ships  going  back  and  fort^^  in  the 
blue  distance,  and  climb  the  cliffs  for  eggs,  and 
dig  all  day  in  the  sand,  and  have  plenty  of 
really  very  nice  little  boys  to  play  with. 

The  world,  however,  suddenly  changed  for 
Georgie.  It  all  happened  one  warm  after- 
noon, after  a  day  when  his  solitude  had  grown 
unbearable  and  he  had  planned  to  run  away 
to  sea.  The  only  trouble  was  that  he  did  not 
know  where  the  sea  was,  and  his  Uncle 
Charley  had  not  altogether  enlightened  him  on 
the  subject.  It  was  just  like  such  a  country 
not  to  have  any  sea ! 

Without  the  least  word  of  warning  a  big, 
beautifully  painted  rubber  ball  came  bounding 

139 


1       ! 


i 


The  Loom  of  Destiny 

over  the  high  board  fence  of  Georgie's  back 
yard.  George  chased  after  it,  and  picked  it 
up,  and  eyed  it  curiously.  It  was  that  sort  of 
rubber  ball  you  see  only  in  England,  and 
Georgie  wondered  how  in  the  world  it  ever 
got  to  America.  He  squeezed  it  and  bounced 
it  once  or  twice  to  make  sure  that  it  was 
real. 

At  that  moment  a  head  appeared  abov6  the 
top  of  the  fence.  Georgie  looked  at  the  head, 
and  the  head  looked  at  Georgie.  He  thought 
it  was  the  curliest  head  he  had  ever  seen,  all 
covered  with  soft  leonine  yellow  hair  that  was 
very  much  tousled.  She  was  a  very  little  girl, 
and  Georgie  saw,  too,  that  she  was  a  rather 
nice  little  girl. 

After  a  moment  of  silent  gazing  down  at 
him,  she  stood  up  on  the  top  of  the  fence. 

"  Little  boy,"  she  cried  imneriously,  "  little 
boy,  throw  my  ball  back,  please !  " 

Georgie,  overlooking  for  once  in  his  life  the 
indignity  of  being  so  addressed,  dropped  the 
ball  from  his  hand  in  astonishment. 

In  that  calling  voice  there  was  a  soft  modu- 
lation, a  fuil-vowelled  intonation,  that  smote 

140 


lodu- 
mote 


Thicker  than  Water 

like  a  memory  on  his  childish  heart-strings  and 
carried  him  back  across  the  Atlantic. 

"  Oh,  I  say,  you  're  a  little  English  girl, 
are  n't  you  ? "  He  looked  up  at  the  head 
above  the  fence  with  mingled  joy  and  aston- 
ishment. "You  look  dref'ly  like  a  lion 
with  so  much  hair  !  " 

"  And  —  and  you  *re  a  little  English  boy, 
are  n't  you  ?  Oh,  is  n't  —  But  I  'm  not  a 
little  girl,  though !  I  'm  almost  thirteen." 
Here  the  lady  of  thirteen  stood  up  on  the 
very  top  of  the  fence  to  show  the  full  dignity 
of  her  height. 

"'Course,"  said  Georgie,  the  diplomat's 
son,  "you  is  dref'ly  big,  now  I  can  see  your 
legs ! " 

Here,  he  knew,  was  a  friend  that  must  be 
hung  on  to.  "  My  name  is  George  Henry 
Purcell ;  what 's  yours,  little  gi  —  I  mean, 
please,  m'am  ? "  said  Georgie,  catching  him- 
self in  time. 

"  I  'm  Mary  Edif  Stanley,  and  we  li/e  on 
Banbury  Road,  the  real  Banbury  Road,  you 
know.  That 's  in  Oxford,  and  I  *ve  got  a 
tricycle  home." 

141 


J^ 


i 


The  Loom  of  Destiny 

"Then  you  know  my  Uncle  Harry  at 
Maudlin  !  Why,  /  go  up  to  Oxford  often 
and  often.  And  I  *ve  seen  the  Bump  races, 
and  Uncle  Harry  and  me  went  up  Maud- 
lin Tower,  and  the  Provost  of  Balliol  gave  me 
some  lemon  squash,  and  Uncle  Harry  showed 
me  the  holes  Cromwell's  cannons  made  in 
New  College.     You  know  'em,  don't  you  ?  " 

"Why,  yes,"  said  Mary  Edith,  jumping 
down  on  Georgie's  side  of  the  fence.  "  And 
is  n't  the  Provost  a  funny  fat  old  man  ?  " 

"  Yes,  and  you  remember  how  he  grunts  ? 
And  are  n't  the  barges  awf 'ly  jolly  ?     And . 
the  Proggins !     Is  rCt  his  velvet  sleeves  like 
a  woman's  ?     And  I  s'pose  you  've  seen  my 
Uncle  Harry  rowing  in  the  Eight  ?     He  *s 

*  3/  you  know." 

Mary  Edith  s'posed  she  had,  and  asked  if 
he  was  the  one  with  the  awf  *ly  hairy  legs. 

Then  they  fell  into  a  general  conversation, 
and  he  explained  that  he  was  usually  called 
Georgie,  and  Mary  Edith  sang,  "  Oh, 
Georgie,  Georgie,  Puddin'y  Pie  ! "  and  then 
the  two  found  their  bedrooms  were  right 
next  to  each  other,  where  the  windows  were 

142 


Thicker  than  Water 


ion, 
illed 
Oh, 
then 
right 
rere 


only  about  six  feet  apart,  and  Mary  Edith 
told  all  about  coming  over  on  the  "Teu- 
tonic,** and  Georgie  boasted  how  he  and  his 
father,  the  Great  Man,  had  had  dinner  on  the 
"Terrible**  and  he  hadn*t  been  a  bit  afraid 
of  the  guns.  Then  they  sat  down  on  the 
grass  together  and  glorified  England,  and 
sang  the  charms  of  Oxford,  and  dilated  on 
the  beauties  of  London  and  Weymouth,  and 
belittled  America,  and  railed  at  New  York 
until  they  found  they  *d  forgotten  nearly  all 
the  really  nice  things  they  wanted  to  say,  and 
simply  sat  and  looked  at  each  other. 

Then  all  of  a  sudden  a  piece  of  mud  hit 
Mary  Edith  on  the  ear. 

«That*s  Freckles,**  said  M-^-y  Edith, 
quietly.  And  the  next  moment  a  very 
freckled  face  appeared  slowly  above  the  t'^p 
of  the  board  fence.  It  was  followed  by  a 
very  lanky  boy,  who,  after  throwing  another 
piece  of  mud  at  Mary  Edith,  turned  a  hand- 
spring over  the  top  of  the  paling  and  nearly 
fell  over  Georgie  in  landing. 

"  This  is  Freckles,  Georgie,**  said  Mary 
Edith,  casually.     "  He  lives  in  our  house  with 

M3 


.! 


*»•.■•".■.  (•.■Ii*«»*- W*M 


1    ' 


The  Loom  of  Destiny 

us.  He 's  not  English,  you  know ;  he 's 
only  an  American  boy." 

"  Well,  I  guess  yes  !  "  said  Freckles  with 
spirit,  *'*'  and  us  Americans  licked  the  English. 
We  licked  the  stuffin*  out  of  them  twice,  and 
we  can  do  it  again  !  " 

"  Freckles,  you  know  that  *s  a  lie,"  calmly 
reproved  Mary  Edith. 

"  Not  on  your  life."  Freckles  wagged  his 
head  knowingly.  "  I  guess  you  never  heard 
of  Washington.  He  did  n't  do  a  thing  to 
your  old  King  George,  did  he  ?  " 

"  Did  he,  Georgie  ?  *'  asked  Mary  Edith, 
with  a  sudden  qualm  of  fear.  Georgie,  long 
ago  and  in  certain  indirect  ways,  had  heard 
something  about  this  same  Washington,  and 
his  face  fell.     He  nodded. 

"  Then  we  just  let  him  do  it,"  protested 
Mary  Edith.  Frenkles  smiled  a  very  supe- 
rior smile.  "  You  did,  eh  !  Just  ask  Aunt 
Mary." 

So  the  little  cloud,  no  bigger  thi\n  the  face 
of  patriotic  Freckles,  overcast  the  sky  of  a 
perfect  day.  A  wordless  sense  of  unhappi- 
ness  fell  upon  Mary  Edith  and  Georgie,  and 

144 


ird 


int 


lace 

If  a 

)pi- 

ind 


Thicker  than  Water 

when  they  arranged  for  a  meeting  the  next 
day  they  did  it  without  the  knowledge  of 
Freckles. 

But  many  were  the  happy  afternoons,  fol- 
lowing that  first  meeting,  the  two  aliens  spent 
together,  and  when  night  came  it  was  even 
nicer,  for  they  would  lock  their  bedroom 
doors  and  give  the  mystic  signal,  and  then  lean 
out  of  their  windows  and  talk  to  each  other 
of  Home  and  how  funny  it  was  to  call  trams 
street  cars,  and  'buses  stages,  and  say  blocks 
for  squares.  They  also  marvelled  together  at 
the  queer  little  American  pennies,  and  asked 
each  other  why  it  was  poor  Freckles  always 
said  kent  instead  of  cawnt.  They  also 
decided  that  a  country  where  one  could  n*t 
buy  brandy-balls  was  a  dreadfully  poor  place 
to  live,  and  that  stone  walls  were  much  nicer 
than  old  board  fences,  especially  board  fences 
with  so  many  nails  in  them,  Mary  Edith 
reluctantly  confessed  that  ice  cream  soda 
was  n*t  bady  and  when  the  same  young  lady 
came  into  possession  of  a  box  of  chocolate 
creams  and  these  Vi'ere  transferred  from  one 
window  to  the  other  on  the  end  of  a  parasol 
10  145 


i 


The  Loom  of  Destiny 

brought  up  from  the  back  hall  for  the 
purpose,  Georgie  half  allowed  that  American 
chocolates  after  all  weren't  so  very  much 
worse  than   bull's-eyes  and  brandy-balls. 

So  the  homesick  English  boy  forgot  his 
loneliness  and  the  two  aliens  got  along 
very  well  together,  and  the  disappointment 
about  the  Indians  was  forgotten.  Georgie 
saved  the  life  of  Mary  Edith's  doll  when  it 
had  a  most  terrible  sawdust  hemorrhage,  and 
Mary  Edith  learned  how  to  load  the  air-gun, 
and  the  days  slipped  away,  and  that  little  back 
yard  would  have  been  a  second  Eden  were  it 
not  for  the  presence  of  Freckles.  Freckles 
was  older  and  bigger  than  the  two  aliens,  and 
they  knew  he  could  say  things  better  than 
they  could,  and  he  was  always  telling  how  the 
United  States  licked  England  in  the  Revolu- 
tion, and  licked  her  again  in  the  War  of  1812, 
and  could  lick  her  now  if  she  was  n't  afraid 
to  fight! 

All  this  filled  Georgie  with  a  sense  of  in- 
expressible resentment,  and  brought  on  many 
a  wordy  battle  between  Mary  Edith  and 
Freckles.     Georgie  knew  that  Mary   Edith 

146 


ind 
lith 


Thicker  than  Water 

did  n't  know  so  much  about  it  as  Freckles 
did,  or  as  he  did  himself,  for  he  remembered 
that  Washington  had  beaten  King  George, 
and  Perry  had  met  the  enemy  and  made  them 
his.  The  consciousness  of  that  old-time 
defeat  of  his  countrymen  lay  on  Georgie  as  a 
sort  of  personal  disgrace.  Still,  he  felt  there 
must  have  been  some  good  reason  why  Eng- 
land had  let  Washington  win.  There  must 
have  been  something  behind  Perry's  victory 
on  Lake  Erie ! 

"Why,"  said  Freckles,  "you  two  kids 
seem  to  think  England 's  the  only  thing  that 
ever  happened  !  Aunt  Mary  says  that  when 
it  is  n*t  raining  in  London  you  can't  see  your 
hand  for  fogs." 

"Fogs  are  great  /un^  truf'ly.  Freckles," 
gravely   declared   Mary  Edith. 

"  And  rain  is  rather  nice  —  in  England," 
said  Georgie. 

"  And  it  *s  awf 'ly  cold  and  blowy  here  in 
the  winter,"  claimed  Mary  Edith. 


cc 


And  you  can't  buy  brandy-balls  here, 


>) 


added  Georgie. 


i( 


And,  Georgie,  is  n't  it  terrible  !     They 

H7 


■I)  I 


H 


I:  I 
Si  » 


The  Loom  of  Destiny 

don't  know  what  a  tuck  shop  means  over 
here ! "  t 

"Oh,  you  kids  make  me  tired,"  said 
Freckles.  "But  I  know  one  thing.  If  / 
was  going  travelling,  /  wouldn't  go  to  a 
country  that  had  licked  mine  so  often." 

Georgie  was  silent.  It  was  always  several 
hours  too  late  when  he  thought  of  the  right 
answer. 

"  Freckles,  you  're  telling  your  lies  again." 
That  was  the  way  Mary  Edith  wriggled  out 
of  answering  such  questions. 

*'  All  right,  if  you  think  they  're  lies,  go 
and  ask  Aunt  Mary.  We  licked  you  in 
the  Revolution,  —  licked  you  just  horrid, — 
and  we  did  the  same  in  1812.  There  was 
Perry's  battle  on  Lake  Erie,  and  there  was 
the  '  Hornet,'  and  the  '  Kearsarge,'  and  the 
'  Chesapeake,'  and  the  '  Argus,'  and  the  —  the 
—  Oh,  shoot,  why,  there  were  so  many  times 
we  did  it  I  can't  remember  them  all.  But 
if  you  don't  believe  me,  just  go  and  ask  Aunt 
Mary." 

"  I  intend  to  ask  Aunt  Mary,"  said  Mary 
Edith,  tearfully,  "  but  I  '11  tell  you  right  now, 

148 


I 


:;il 


Thicker  than  Water 

Freckles,  I  know  you're  telling  the  most 
he  r'ble  stories  !  " 

"  Yes,  Freckles,"  said  Georgie  quite  as 
dolefully,  "  and  /  *m  going  to  ask  my  Uncle 
Charley." 

This  Georgie,  with  much  fear  and  stam- 
mering, actually  did. 

"  What  —  what 's  this  the  youngster  is 
trying  to  get  at  ? "  said  Georgie's  Uncle 
Charley,  looking  up  over  his  paper  when  the 
questions  were  timidly  put  to  him.  "  Amer- 
ican Revolution  ?  Bah,  all  rot,  boy,  all  rot ! 
The  American  Revolution  was  won  right  in 
England  —  sympathy  of  the  great  middle 
classes  of  the  home  country  !  But,  dear  me, 
child,  you  can't  understand  those  things ! 
What's  that?  War  of  1812?  No,  sir," 
thundered  Georgie's  Uncle  Charley,  in  his 
good  British  wrath,  "  no,  sir,  it  was  not  won 
by  America.  England  had  her  hands  tied, 
sir,  her  hands  tied  Hghting  Napoleon,  and  she 
had  nothing  but  a  few  scrub  regulars  to  send 
out.  But  they  did  what  they  were  sent  for, 
and  along  with  the  Canadian  militia  they 
kept  it  mighty  hot  for  the  American  forces 

149 


|5H 


I 

h 


i.Vl 


t 


The  Loom  of  Destiny 

for  three  years,  sir.  As  for  the  ultimate  out- 
come of  those  campaigns,  sir,  I  have  only  to 
refer  you  to  the  actual  text  of  the  treaty  of 
Ghent  and  Professor  Goldwin  Smith's  —  but, 
dear  me,  you  are  only  a  child  !  I  quite  for- 
got for  the  moment  —  quite  forgot !  So  ofF 
to  bed  with  you  now  !  " 

Georgie  went  scampering  up  the  stairs 
with  a  sudden  new  lightness  in  his  heart. 
The  Empire  had  been  upheld.  The  stain 
had  been  washed  off  the  escutcheon. 

He  waited  impatiently  until  everything  had 
grown  quiet  and  then  gave  the  accustomed 
signal,  —  six  knocks  on  the  wall  with  his 
shoe,  —  and  leaned  out  the  window  to  tell 
Mary  Edith. 

"  It  was  a  lie,"  whispered  Georgie,  "  and 
Uncle  Charley  says  that  the  Revolution  was 
won  in  England,  by  what  he  called  the  middle 
classes  in  between,  you  know." 

"  There  !  "  said  Mary  Edith,  with  convic- 
tion. "  I  always  knew  that  Freckles  was 
telling  stories.  Oh,  I  say,  Georgie,  aren't 
you  glad  ? " 

Georgie  made  the  sound  that  usually  ac- 

150 


Thicker  than  Water 


id 

ras 
lie 

lic- 
ras 

In'/ 

lac- 


companies  the   mastication    of   a    chocolate 
cream.     Mary  Edith  understood. 

"  Georgie,  there 's  just  one  thing  to  do. 
We  must  ^o  right  straight  and  tell  Freckles." 

"Yes,  we'll  have  to  go  right  straight  and 
tell  Freckles,"  echoed  Georgie,  triumphantly. 

"  Then  you  go  down  to  the  side  door  and 
I  '11  let  you  in."  Mary  Edith  was  a  woman 
of  action.  "  Are  you  afraid,  Georgie  ?  "  she 
asked,  as  she  noticed  him  hesitate. 

"  Oh,  no,"  said  Georgie,  stoutly. 

He  closed  the  window  and  slipped  down 
through  the  big  hall  and  out  through  the  back 
door  in  his  white  Madras  pajamas.  At  the 
side  door  of  the  other  house  Mary  Edith  met 
him  in  her  nightgown.  They  took  hold  of 
each  other's  hand,  for  it  was  very  dark  inside 
and  everyone  was  asleep. 

They  went  noiselessly  from  room  to  room 
in  their  bare  feet,  silently  climbed  the  wide 
stairway,  and  then  went  up  still  another  stair- 
way. 

They  slipped  through  the  door  of  Freckles' 
room  and  carefully  closed  themselves  in. 
Mary  Edith  punched  the  sleeping   Freckles 

'SI 


The  Loom  of  Destiny 

smartly   on    the    ribs.      Freckles    did    not 
stir. 

*'  Tou  do  it,  Georgie ;  you  can  do  it  the 
hardest."  Georgie  thumped  the  figure  curled 
up  in  the  bed  with  all  the  strength  of  his 
arm,  remembering  past  insults  to  flag  and 
country. 

"  Wha'  's  the  matter  now  ?  "  said  Freckles, 
sleepily. 

"  It 's  a  lie,  Freckles,  a  hor'ble  lie.  You 
did  n*t  really  beat  us,"  said  Mary  Edith. 

"  The  Revolution  was  won  in  England  by 
the  middle  classes  in  between,  and  you  knew 
it  all  the  time  !  '* 

"  And  you  did  n*t  lick  us  in  the  war  of 
1812,  either,"  cried  Georgie.  "  England  had 
her  hands  and  feet  tied,  for  she  was  fighting 
with  Napoleon,  and  that  *s  just  the  same  as  if 
Mary  Edith  tried  to  lick  Uncle  Charley  and 
you  at  the  same  time,  and  she  could  just  send 
out  a  few  men,  just  the  tiniest  few  men  you 
can  think  of." 

"  And  we  did  n't  do  a  thing  to  them,  did 
we  ? "  yawned  Freckles,  settling  his  head 
more  comfortably  down  in  the  pillow. 

152 


l^ 


Thicker  than  Water 

*'  But  you  did  n't  really  beat"  said  Georgie, 
with  a  swelling  sense  of  new-born  pride. 

"'Course  you  didn't,"  declared  Mary 
Edith. 

Freckles  turned  over  and  yawned  sleepily 

once  more.     "  Oh,  you  kids  must  be  crazy. 

Go  way  and  le'  me  'lone." 

•         •••••• 

"  Georgie,"  whispered  Mary  Edith  in  the 
big  dark  hall,  as  they  held  each  other's  hands 
and  felt  with  their  bare  toes  for  the  first  step 
of  the  stairway,  "aren't  you  awfly  glad 
you  're  English  ?  " 

For  the  second  time  that  night  Georgie 
made  a  sound  as  if  he  were  eating  a  chocolate 
cream.     The  Empire  had  been  upheld  ! 


did 
lead 


^53 


% 


*  > 


INSTRUMENT'S   OF   EROS 

Oh,  it  'j  then  I  'ankers  after  '  0ms, 

An'  a  sniff  o'  Bethnal  Green, 
An'  *Er,  who  was  queen  o'  Pub  an'  'All, 

—  An'  th'  Things  w'ot  Might  'Ave  Been! 


»  i 


il 

n 

W" 

1' 

\h 

if 

k  ■"' 

t . 

1H5TRUMENTS  'ERi 


gr5£«JSS"  St^^Ezri^^.-  -  ^^-:p 


HE  had  always  been  called  "  Hungry  " 
—  Hungry  Dooley.  Just  how  he 
came  by  this  name  no  one  knew.  It  was 
thought  by  many  to  have  been  inspired  by 
the  boy's  thin,  wistful-looking  face,  with 
its  restless  eyes  and  queer  little  outstand- 
ing cheekbones.  Others,  again,  held  that 
the  name  sprang  from  Hungry *s  passion 
for  carting  away  envied  loads  of  luscious 
fruit  and  delectable  vegetables,  picked  up 
along  the  river  front.  These  he  disappeared 
with  into  the  dim  recesses  of  an  East  Side 
cellar  which  he  dignified  by  the  name  of 
home. 

For  Hungry,  besides  being  an  everyday 
wharf  rat,  was  the  stay  and  support  of  three 
even  hungrier-looking  sisters  and  a  sickly 
mother,  to  say  nothing  of  an  alcoholic  father 

157 


''     i 


The  Loom  of  Destiny 

who  was  able,  now  and  then,  to  beat  or  bully 
a  penny  or  two  out  of  him. 

It  was  only  right,  therefore,  that  Hungry, 
as  he  wandered  busily  about  the  odoriferous 
curbs  and  the  crate-covered  docks  of  the 
river  front,  should  take  himself  seriously. 
He  had,  of  course,  many  rivals,  for  there  was 
always  a  wandering  herd  of  equally  hungry- 
eyed,  ragged-looking  urchins  haunting  those 
alluring  wharves,  flitting  about  from  boat  to 
boat  and  cart  to  cart,  like  a  flock  of  over- 
grown city  sparrows,  ever  ready  to  pounce 
down  upon  and  fight  over  any  stray  piece 
of  fruit,  melon  rind,  or  other  dubiously 
misplaced  edible  to  be  found  among  those 
over-crowded,  dirty,  busy,  clamorous  streets 
and  stalls  where  men  bring  from  far  off  all 
those  things  that  go  to  feed  a  great,  hungry, 
heedless  city. 

But  the  most  opulent  of  those  hawk-eyed 
scavengers  was  Hungry  Dooley.  Not  an 
over-ripe  banana  fell  to  the  ground  but  he 
knew  of  it.  Not  an  unsalable  apple  was 
cast  away  but  he  !iad  sized  it  up  as  a  matter 
of  food-stuff*     Not  a  remnant    of  old   fish 

.58 


in 

las 
ler 


'^  Instruments  of  Eros 

was  left  behind    but    his  aquiline   eye    was 
on  it. 

And  things  went  well,  and  business  throve 
with  Hungry.  In  fact,  as  time  on,  he  even 
took  unto  himself  a  mate. 

She  was  as  diminutive,  as  thin  of  leg,  and 
as  dirtily  unkempt  as  Hungry  himself.  But 
one  could  see  by  the  way  in  which  he  laid 
his  choicest  portions  of  refuse  banana  and 
bruised  pineapple  before  her,  that  to  him  she 
was  as  a  goddess  on  a  pedestal,  and  a  thing 
to  kneel  to,  and  worship,  and  adore. 

So  plain  was  it  that  Hungry  had  a 
"  stiddy "  that  envious  stories  went  about 
through  the  busy  little  band,  and  even  certain 
taunts  were  thrown  out. 

But  none  of  these  disturbed  either  Hungry 
or  his  sweetheart  Brickie,  who,  by  the  way, 
was  seen  rapidly  to  gain  flesh  under  Hungry's 
solicitous  eye. 

And  as  spring  glided  into  summer  all  life 
changed  for  Hungn  Dooley.  A  rose  mist 
seemed  to  hang  over  the  river,  and  a  happy 
golden  halo  over  the  world.  He  did  not 
know  what  it  meant,  but  the  rattle  of  the 

159 


The  Loom  of  Destiny 

waggons  seemed  like  unending  music  to  him. 
The  sound  of  the  cables  became,  to  his  ears, 
like  the  murmur  of  running  streams.  The 
alley  where  Brickie  lived  was  an  Eden  and  a 
place  of  infinite  delight,  and  with  her  at  his 
side  he  was  happy,  indescribably  happy ! 

In  Hungry  the  paternal  instinct  had  devel- 
oped at  an  early  age.  He  even  gave  Brickie, 
willingly,  his  last  bit  of  orange,  for  Brickie's 
appetite  was  enormous.  He  found  he  could 
satisfy  the  gnawing  pain  in  his  own  stomach 
by  saving  the  peelings  and  eating  them  after- 
wards, when  Brickie  was  n*t  looking.  At 
times,  it  was  true,  the  gnawing  would  become 
frightfully  strong,  but  on  his  hungriest  day 
he  would  rather  see  Brickie's  lips  close  deli- 
ciously  round  the  end  of  an  over-ripe  banana 
than  eat  it  himself. 

For  three  beautiful  but  fleeting  months 
Brickie  clung  to  him,  and  the  rose  mist  hung 
over  the  river,  and  the  halo  over  his  world. 

But  it  was  a  dark  day  for  Hungry  Doolcy 
when  Ikey  Rosenberg  discovered  that  river- 
side El  Dorado.  When  Ikey  found  a  place 
where  fruit  could  be  had  for  the  picking  up, 

1 60 


Instruments  of  Eros 


y 

e 


he  transferred  his  hunting-ground  from  the 
East  Side  to  the  region  of  wharves.  Ikey 
was  an  element  from  a  different  world,  how- 
ever, and  from  the  first  it  was  felt  he  was  an 
intruder  and  a  menace. 

He  brought  seven  pennies  in  his  pocket, 
the  veiy  first  day  of  his  invasion,  and  took 
pains  to  show  them,  by  which  vanity  he  lost 
three.  But  in  two  short  days  he  had  won 
the  heart  of  Brickie  Sniffins  with  a  broken 
mouth-organ,  a  little  red  and  blue  lantern, 
and  four  penny  dishes  of  ice  cream,  pur- 
chased, with  great  ostentation,  from  the 
despised  Italian  who  dispensed  that  cooling 
essence  of  perpetual  joy  from  a  three-wheeled 
red  cart  on  a  nearby  corner. 

Brickie,  in  a  wonderfully  short  space  of 
time,  grew  to  feel  that  she  was  cut  out  for  a 
man  who  had  money  and  could  treat  her  as  a 
girl  ought  to  be  treated.  She  openly  de- 
clared that  she  did  not  care  to  be  seen  with  a 
person  who  could  n*t  wear  shoes  and  stock- 
ings, and  who  had  to  live  in  a  cellar.  That 
declaration  was  made  the  day  after  Ikey  had 
taken  her  round  and  showed  her  the  riches 

i6i 


IX 


I 


ill 


The  Loom  of  Destiny 

that  lay  in  dazzling  disarray  in  the  window  of 
the  store  of  "  Isaac  Rosenberg,  Pawnbroker." 

The  final  break  came  when  Brickie  stood 
on  the  curb  with  Ikey  and  made  faces  at 
Hungry. 

Hungry  saw  the  change,  but  he  said  nothing. 
Strange  tales  went  the  rounds  of  the  wharves, 
and  it  was  said  he  was  silently  eating  his 
heart  out.  Disconsolately  he  passed  by 
bananas  and  onions  and  oranges,  letting  ready 
hands  snatch  the  treasures  from  under  his 
very  nose.  He  would  not  even  stop  to  fight 
over  a  discarded  pineapple. 

How  it  all  might  have  turned  out  it  is  hard 
to  say.  But  on  the  paltriest  accidents  of  life 
hinges  the  course  of  destiny. 

It  came  about  simply  because  the  driver 
of  an  express  waggon  took  four  glasses  of 
beer,  when  he  knew  three  glasses  were 
enough.  His  waggon  was  piled  high  with 
crates  on  their  way  to  the  commission  house. 
And  in  those  crates  were  little  wooden  boxes 
of  imported  Maryland  strawberries.  Their 
fragrance  was  wafted  up  and  down  the 
wharf,  and  they  glowed  through  the  chinks 

162 


Instruments  of  Eros 

in  the  crate  in  such  a  manner  that  Hungry 
could  not  help  following  after  the  waggon. 

When  the  driver  cut  a  street  corner  too 
short,  and  sent  his  front  waggon  wheel 
up  on  the  curbstone,  Hungry  knew  that 
top  crate  was  going  to  fall  off — knew  it  ten 
seconds  before  it  struck  the   ground. 

The  huge  crate  burst,  of  course,  and  a 
great  odorous,  crimson  wealth  of  Maryland 
strawberries  tumbled  out  into  the  road.  A 
couple  of  passing  waggon  wheels  crushed 
juicily  through  them.  The  driver  sat  help- 
lessly in  his  seat,  calling  all  the  curses  of 
heaven  down  on  the  heads  of  his  docile  team. 

But  Hungry  had  been  ready.  He  fell 
bodily  on  the  ruddy  and  tumbled  mass,  and 
at  the  risk  of  being  run  down  by  a  dozen 
passing  rigs,  scooped  up  the  fallen  wealth 
as  he  had  never  scooped  up  fruit  before. 
Brickie  they  should  be  for  —  Brickie  —  every 
one  of  them.  Brickie's  mouth  it  was  he 
seemed  to  see  closing  on  them  as  he  thrust 
handful  after  handful  into  his  grimy  coal 
sack,  now  reminiscent,  in  perfumes,  of  many 
mingled   fruits.     The    fact,    too,    that   they 

163 


The  Loom  of  Destiny 

were  out  of  season  added  infinitely  to  their 
value. 

But  the  driver  felt  that  he  had  to  get  even 
with  some  one.  Still  swearing,  he  climbed 
down  slowly  from  his  waggon.  He  broke  off 
one  of  the  sides  of  the  ruined  crate.  With 
it  he  viciously  welted  the  unheeding  child 
down  on  his  knees  in  the  road.  The  child 
did  not  move,  so  he  struck  him  again,  and 
then  again.  Still  the  boy  with  the  bag  kept 
on  gathering  in  the  scattered  berries.  A 
policeman  sauntered  up,  tast'  a  berry  or 
two,  and  told  the  driver  to  leave  tne  kid  alone. 
But  in  a  minute  or  two  the  whole  herd  was 
upon  them,  and  the  crate  was  irretrievably 
lost.  It  was  Hungry,  however,  who  had  the 
pick  of  the  pile. 

Brickie  watched  the  scene  with  wistful 
eyes  from  the  sidewalk.  She  had  not  been 
getting  on  very  well  with  Ikey  of  late,  and 
when  he  declined  to  enter  the  struggle  for 
some  of  the  berries,  she  felt  a  new  and  strange 
contempt  for  him.  For  Brickie  was  very 
fond  of  strawberries ! 

Then,  before  the  whole  world,   Hungry 

164 


I' 


iili|i['<rMiwiriiiniWiHit 


Instruments  of  Eros 

limped  over  to  the  curb  and  proffered  her 
his  bag  of  precious  fruit.  Brickie  blushed, 
declined  with  feigned  reluctance,  blushed 
deeper,  and  then  broke  out  crying.  Hungry 
gave  Ikey  Rosenberg  a  black  eye  for  jeering 
at  those  tears. 

Through  her  sobs  she  protested  that  she 
would  never  do  it  again,  and  having  eyed  the 
open  bag,  and  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  wealth 
therein,  made  a  mouth  at  Ikey  Rosenberg 
that  decided  the  matter  for  all  time. 

Once  more  the  rose-tinted  mists  seemed 
to  dwell  on  the  river,  and  a  golden  halo 
hung  over  the  city,  but  few  people  ever 
knew  that  a  mere  little  crate  of  Maryland 
strawberries  was  the  means  of  bringing  back 
a  lost  Eden ! 


165 


r 


I  i 


'H 


a  ! 


\ 


AN   ESSAY   IN   EQUALITY 

For  there's  ' Ennery  in  *//  'ansom  cab, 
A-goin*  up  an'  down  th'  Strand: 

An*  if  I  was  '  Ennery,  an'  'Ennery  me, 
rd  give  this  bloomin'  'and. 


WWWWWWIWmKWIi  iiiiWMIMimi 


f'/,^^m^ 


IT  was  his  by  right  of  discovery.  For 
two  glorious  weeks  he  had  puddled  in 
it,  and  now,  naturally  enough,  he  looked 
upon  it  as  his  own  private  property. 

It  was  r.ut,  to  be  sure,  in  his  own  Alley, 
but  thea  he  had  found  it  first,  and  it  was  his 
by  nght  of  occupation.  And  now,  if  need 
be,  he  was  ready  to  do  battle  for  it,  as  any 
son  of  Adam  is  ever  readv  to  do  for  his  own, 
or  what  he  calls  his  f>wn. 

But  then  it  was  worth  fighting  for !  It 
was  the  most  beautiful  of  mud  puddles,  three 
inches  deep  and  four  whole  feet  long.  Such 
things  should  never  have  been  in  a  well- 
ordered  city,  but  every  day  the  watering-cart 
man  who  lumbered  up  and  down  the  Avenue 
on  his  great  red  wagon  left  the  water-hydrant 
leaking  a  little,  so  that  the  puddle  was  per- 

169 


i  I 


!     ".1 

\   i 


rft**F 


The  Loom  of  Destiny 

petually  replenished.  Suns  might  shine  on 
it,  and  winds  might  blow  over  it,  but 
morning,  noon,  and  night  it  remained  the 
same  tempting  thing  of  delight,  oozy  of 
bottom,  and  sweet  to  the  touch  of  shoeless 
feet. 

Each  day  the  boy  from  the  Alley  brought 
his  sailboat,  made  of  a  shingle,  with  three 
rakish  masts  and  a  rigging  of  dirty  string, 
and  sailed  it  adventurously  up  and  down  his 
puddle.  With  a  piece  of  cord  tied  to  the 
bowsprit,  which  was  very  much  on  the  bias, 
the  boy  from  the  Allc)^  puckered  up  his 
childish  lips,  and  up  to  his  ankles  in  mud, 
choo-choo-chooed  delightedly  as  he  pulled  his 
little  boat  back  and  forth  from  one  end  of 
the  puddle  to  the  other. 

And  for  two  golden  weeks  this  continued, 
Ther;,  one  morninar,  he  found  an  invader  on 
his  property.  1  he  stranger  was  a  boy  of 
four,  wearing  shiny  gaiters  of  tan  leather 
and  a  black-velvet  suit  with  rows  of  Glitter- 
ing Things  on  it.  The  intiuder  was  not 
exactly  in  the  puddle,  but  he  was  looking 
down  at  it  with  such  happy  and  longing  eyes 


li 


An  Essay  in  Equality 

that  the  boy  from  the  Alley  cleared  for 
action. 

He  eyed  the  invader  darkly.  He  had 
found  a  footprint  on  his  Crusoe's  Island. 
With  curious  and  half-envious  eyes,  he 
noticed  the  Glittering  Things  worn  by  the 
other.  Then,  vi^ith  a  great  air,  he  launched 
his  little  boat  and  choo-choo-chooed  up  and 
down  the  puddle  simply  to  show  the  other 
boy  that  he  was  the  owner.  He  contrived, 
at  the  same  time,  to  splash  as  much  mud  and 
water  as  possible  on  the  boy  in  velvet.  But 
the  boy  in  velvet  did  not  seem  to  mind  in 
the  least.  In  fact,  he  drew  nearer,  and  stood 
at  the  edge  of  the  puddle,  his  patent-leather 
shoes  sinking  in  the  mud. 

The  boy  from  the  Alley  resented  the 
intrusion. 

*'  G'won,  kid,"  he  said  belligerently,  al- 
though he  was  not  so  tall  as  the  other  by 
three  j^ood  inches. 

^'T'ant  I  watch  oo  ?  "  lisped  the  other, 
wisttully,  in  a  voice  of  such  baby  timidity 
that  it  filled  the  Alley  boy  with  disgust.  In 
fact,   the   Alley    boy    was   disagreeably    sur- 


L 


The  Loom  of  Destiny 

prised.  When  he  knew  the  invader  wasn't 
going  to  fight  him,  his  respect  for  the  invader 
went  down  ten  degrees. 

Still,  the  owner  of  the  puddle  felt  not  a 
little  proud  of  the  fact  that  a  being  wearing 
so  many  Glittering  Things  should  come  and 
ask  favours  of  him.  He  even  said  that  the 
boy  in  velvet  might  come  over  and  sail  the 
boat.  But  just  once  !  No  more  than  once, 
because  thut  boat  cost  more  than  all  the 
money  the  banana  man  ever  had  in  all  his 
life  I 

After  a  time  the  boy  in  velvet  suggested 
taking  off  his  shoes,  like  the  other.  The 
Alley  boy  never  before  had  seen  such  white 
legs,  and  was  much  disgusted  when  his  com- 
panion confessed  the  stones  hurt  his  feet  — 
but  just  the  littlest  bit  ! 

The  Alley  boy  showed  the  other  how  to 
squeeze  the  mud  up  between  his  toes,  and 
how  to  pick  up  pebbles  with  his  big  toe, 
curling  it  under.  Then  the  two  grew  quite 
friendly,  and  had  a  most  glorious  mud  battle. 

How  that  battle  would  have  come  out  it 
is  hard  to  say.     At  the  critical  moment  the 

IP 


t>    V 


sn't 
ader 

lot  a 
aring 
;  and 
t  the 
1  the 
once, 
[  the 
,11  his 

Tested 

"^The 

white 

com- 

[eet  — 

)W   to 
,,  and 
toe, 
quite 
yattle. 
lout  it 
It  the 


An  Essay  in  Equality 

invader's  English  nurse  came  around  the 
corner  of  the  Avenue,  waving  affectionate 
farewells  to  a  policeman.  When  she  beheld 
the  boy  in  velvet  she  held  up  her  hands 
and  screamed.  In  a  seccnd  she  had  seized 
him  and  jerked  him  viciously  on  to  the 
sidewalk. 

"  *Eaven  'elp  us !  "  she  cried,  as  she  gazed 
on  him  with  despair.  She  shook  him  vigor- 
ously, after  looking  to  see  that  no  one  was 
in  sight,  and  gathered  up  his  mud-stained 
things,  roundly  abusing  the  owner  of  the 
puddle  as  a  pug-nosed  hi  at  of  a  thieving 
slreet-arab.  The  street-arab  stood  in  (  ti 
indifference,  letting  the  soft  mud  ooze  up 
between  his  toes  as  he  watched  the  tears 
gathering  in  the  other  boy's  eyes.  The 
nurse  seized  her  charge  and  with  a  contemp- 
tuous sniff  at  the  indifferent  child  in  the 
puddle  led  the  other  boy  homeward,  asking 
'eaven  to  'elp  'er  each  time  she  looked  down 
at  his  clothes. 

A^  the  boy  in  velvet  was  jerked  bodily 
along,  he  gazed  back  longingly  at  the  mud- 
puddle  and  the  ship  with  three  masts.      Why 

»73 


f  IH 


;     J 


The  Loom  of  Destiny 

could  n't  he  do  that  sort  of  thing,  too  ?  Why 
were  all  the  good  things  of  life  denied  him  ? 
Why  could  n't  he  play  in  that  beautiful  black 
mud,  as  well  as  the  other  boy  ? 

He  looked  back  regretfully  at  the  multi- 
millionaire, who  was  still  letting  the  soft 
slime  ooze  deliciously  between  his  toes.  But 
the  strong  arm  of  that  irate  nurse  hauled  him 
relentlessly  on.  He  tugged  to  get  away,  but 
in  vain,  and  as  he  was  dragged  homeward 
up  the  Avenue  his  lusty  bawling  echoed  up 
and  down  that  decorous  street,  and  filled  the 
inmost  heart  of  his  English  nurse  with  a 
secret  desire  to  spank  him. 

It  was  two  whole  weeks  before  the  boy 
in  velvet  appeared  on  the  scene  again.  When 
he  walked  slowly  down  the  Avenue  his 
face  was  quite  as  white  as  the  lace  on  his 
velvet  collar,  and  there  was  a  big  swathe 
of  flannel  about  his  throat.  The  nurse 
held  his  hand,  for  his  legs  were  still  very 
wobbly. 

The  boy  from  the  Alley  was  there  with 
his  shingle,  choo-choo-chooing  gaily  up  and 
down  the  puddle.  . 

174 


Why. 

him? 

black 

multi- 
e    soft 
.    But 
ed  him 
ay,  but 
neward 
oed  up 
led  the 
with  a 

the  boy 

When 

ue    his 

on  his 

swathe 

nurse 

ill    very 

lere  with 
up  and 


An  Essay  in  Equality 

"  I  Ve  been  thick  !  "  said  the  boy  in  velvet, 
in  a  weak  and  doleful  voice. 

"  Was  you  ?  "  said  the  owner  of  the  puddle, 
indifferently.  That  seemed  an  enviable  dis- 
tinction to  the  Alley  boy.  He  thought  it 
was  uttered  in  the  form  of  a  challenge.  So 
with  a  show  of  infinite  pride  he  stooped  to 
fix  his  vessel's  bowsprit. 

"  Yeth,  I  *ve  been  drefFully,  drefFully  thick," 
wailed  the  boy  in  velvet,  gazing  with  hungry 
eyes  on  the  shingle  boat,  the  mud,  and  the 
water. 

"  Yes,  he  'as,  you  little  pug-nosed  himp  of 
filth,  and  it  was  you  as  done  it !  "  cried  the 
red-faced  nurse.  "  Whitney  Algernon  'Olland, 
you  come  *ere.  Don't  you  dare  to  talk  to 
the  likes  of  'im.  'E  ain't  fit  comp'ny  for 
you  !  'E  's  only  a  dirty  little  thievin'  street- 
arab,  and  it  was  'im  as  nearly  killed  you. 
Come  along,  Whitney  Algernon  'Olland,  or 
nurse  *il  go  straight  'ome  and  veil  your 
mamma ! " 

She  cast  a  withering  look  on  the  owner 
of  the  puddle,  seized  the  boy  in  velvet,  and 
dragged  him  off.     The  boy  in  velvet  did  not 

175 


s  M 


1     \ 


tMMMWWUMi 


The  Loom  of  Destiny 

and  could  not  understand  how  she  ever  could 
make  such  a  mistake.  As  she  led  him 
relentlessly  up  the  Avenue  he  wept  copiously. 
But  the  owner  of  the  puddle  choo-choo-chooed 
up  and  down  his  domain  of  mud  with  calm, 
supreme,  imperturbable  indl^erence! 


I 


.»,. 


176 


ould 
him 
usly. 
ooed 
aim. 


THE   HEART'S   DESIRE 

But  I  watch  th*  'igh'toned  nobs  go  out 
Were  tV  English  liner  lays  ; 

An'  s*  elp  me  Gawd,  but  'er  Union  Jack 
Fills  m*  bally  eyes  with  ' aze  ! 


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THERE  were  many  things  to  show  that 
Teddie's  arrival  in  this  world  was  an 
unwelcome  event.  The  first  symptom  of 
such  feeling  was  the  fact  that  three  days 
after  his  birth  his  mother  drank  half  a  bottle 
of  carbolic  acid,  and  was  found  dying  on  the 
very  bed  where  Teddie  lay  wailing  for  his 
breakfast. 

This  took  place  in  the  big  brown-stone 
hotel  that  overlooked  the  Plaza,  and  to  show 
that  there  were  others  who  regarded  Teddie's 
advent  in  the  light  of  an  intrusion,  the 
diamond-studded  manager  of  that  particular 
hotel  walked  up  and  down  saying  it  was  a 
pretty  kettle  of  fish,  and  that  his  house  would 
be  ruined,  and  that  if  a  newspaper  reporter 
even  so  much  as  showed  his  Jace  in  that 
hotel  to  kick  him  out. 

179 


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The  Loom  of  Destiny 

The  worst  of  it  all  was  that  not  a  scrap 
of  letter  or  paper  or  personal  property  could 
be  found  to  show  just  who  "  Mrs.  James 
Brown "  really  was.  Even  the  name  and 
initials  had  been  cut  out  of  the  dead  wo- 
man's underclothing  —  and  it  was  noticed 
at  the  time  that  they  were  of  the  very  finest 
silk  !  —  and  the  wearer  of  the  diamond  studs 
was  in  a  terrible  way,  not  so  much  because 
the  infant  would  have  to  be  handed  over  to 
the  tender  mercies  of  the  police  and  the  city 
Foundling  Hospital,  but  because  of  the  fact 
that  if  such  a  thing  were  done  the  whole 
story  would,  of  course,  get  into  the  papers. 

So  when  the  Irish  elevator  man,  not  alto- 
gether from  selfish  interests,  said  that  he 
would  take  the  baby,  for  a  consideration, 
Teddie  was  joyfully  handed  over  to  him, 
accompanied  by  two  nice  crisp  ten-dollar 
bills.  This  same  Irish  elevator  man  straight- 
way carried  Teddie  to  his  little  home  on 
Thompson  Street,  where  for  seven  months 
his  childless  wife  lovingly  over-fed  him. 
Then  it  so  fell  out  that  she  had  to  make 
room  for  a  little  boy  of  her  own.     Teddie 

i8o 


The  Heart's  Desire 

was  passed  on  to  an  equally  humble  home 
on  Sullivan  Street,  and  was  accordingly  there- 
after known  as  Teddie  Sullivan. 

But  in  his  new  home  the  sturdy  Teddie's 
appetite  developed  the  most  unexpected  pro- 
portions, and  he  was  quickly  shuffled  out  into 
the  wide  world,  where  he  fell  upon  evil  days 
and  would  surely  have  died,  had  not  a  kindly- 
eyed  Scotch  widow  in  Perkins  Place  taken 
him  in.  His  new  foster-mother,  who  was 
laundress  and  shirt-maker  and  housekeeper 
by  turns,  had  seen  better  days.  But  as  her 
pursuits  were  now  often  those  of  mendicity 
she  found  the  hungry-eyed  Teddie  to  be  a 
potent  accession,  and  the  gratuities  he  called 
forth  were  numerous.  As  Mar'gut  Mac- 
dougall's  love  for  Glenlevit  rye,  however, 
was  even  stronger  than  her  love  for  the 
child,  there  were  many  days,  indeed,  when 
Master   Teddie  went  without   his  dinner. 

But  here  it  was  that  Teddie  emerged 
from  babyhood  and  learned  to  say  his  first 
words  with  a  strange  little  touch  of  the  High- 
land burr  to  them.  In  time,  too,  he  grew 
big  enough  to  explore  the  boundless  vistas 

x8x 


■1 


ill 


i   s 

i 


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I 


I 


I 


1 


« 


The  Loom  of  Destiny 

of  Perkins  Place,  which  had  no  less  than 
twelve  tumble-down  tenement  houses  facing 
on  it.  But  nothing  is  so  proudly  exclusive 
as  a  slum  like  Perkins  Place,  and  as  it  was 
an  open  secret  that  Teddie's  forebears  were 
unknown,  he  found  no  one  to  play  with,  and 
from  the  first  day  of  his  appearance  on  the 
Place  repeatedly  had  flung  at  him  an  epithet 
which  he,  happily,  did  not  understand.  In 
more  generous  moments  they  merely  made 
fun  of  his  yellow  curls,  and  called  him 
"  Girlie ! " 

His  loneliness,  however,  did  not  weigh 
heavily  upon  him.  He  held  animated  dis- 
course with  bits  of  broken  flower-pots,  and 
fell  into  the  habit  of  telling  wonderful  sto- 
ries to  the  third  step  in  the  landing,  which 
had  a  crack  in  it,  and  therefore  always  list- 
ened best.  Later  on  he  invented  a  series 
of  games,  in  which  the  pieces  of  sticks  were 
all  men  and  the  stones  all  tigers.  If  the 
tigers  knocked  over  the  men  first  throw,  that 
meant  they  were  all  eaten  up.  But  if  the 
men  fell  down  across  one  another,  that  meant 
the  tigers  could  n't  touch  them,  and  the  tigers 

i8a 


5  than 
facing 
elusive 
it  was 
rs  were 
th,  and 
on  the 
epithet 
id.  In 
J  made 
d     him 

weigh 
:ed  dis- 
)ts,  and 
ul  sto- 
which 
,ys  list- 
series 
s  were 
If  the 
w,  that 
if  the 
meant 
tigers 


The  Heart's  Desire 

had  to  begin  all  over  again  and  keep  eating 
up  until  the  men  were  all  gone.  Tigers,  in 
fact,  from  the  first  day  Teddie  overheard 
Bud  Persons  expatiating  on  their  ferocity, 
had  a  peculiar  fascination  for  him ;  only 
sometimes  they  invaded  his  dreams  by  night 
and  made  him  wake  with  feelings  of  unutter- 
able terror. 

The  child,  as  he  grew  older,  also  took  a 
strange  delight  in  watching  people  pass  up 
and  down  the  Place.  He  would  suppose 
with  himself  that  some  Great  Power  had 
ordained  that  if  a  man  did  not  pass  before  he 
had  taken  twenty  breaths  he  would  have  to 
drop  down  dead.  By  the  hour  he  would 
patiently  sit  and  test  this  supposition,  glory- 
ing over  each  victory  and  depressed  by  each 
defeat. 

Then  he  took  passionately  to  papers, 
books,  and  pictures.  He  came  across  a 
number  of  old  "  Illustrated  News,"  with 
pictures  of  the  siege  of  Paris,  and  over  these 
pictures  of  war  and  adventure  he  would  pore 
by  the  hour.  He  had  refused  to  go  to  the 
Night   School,  and   could   not  read,  but  he 

183 


The  Loom  of  Destiny 

made  up  stories  for  each  illustration,  and  it 
was  not  until  the  pages  were  worn  to  shreds 
and  tatters  that  he  found  it  possible  tc  forego 
this  pleasure. 

Then  he  grew  more  adventurous  in  spirit 
and  stole  beyond  the  borders  of  the  Place 
into  unknown  country,  and  even  ventured 
so  far  away  as  Washington  Square.  It  was 
here  that  life  really  opened  up  for  him,  for  it 
was  while  following  after  an  Italian  organ- 
grinder  that  he  came  upon  the  Avenue  with 
its  smooth  pavement,  its  hurrying  carriages, 
and  its  long  vista  of  white-globed  lamp-posts 
leading  afar  ofF  into  the  mysteriously  alluring 
Unknown. 

From  the  first,  that  Unknown  Country 
enchanted  the  child.  Just  why  it  was  he 
did  not  know,  and  never  could  tell,  but  day 
by  day  he  stole  away  from  the  gloom  and 
smells  of  Perkins  Place  and  trudged  off  to 
the  Avenue,  where  he  could  go  wandering 
inquisitively  up  and  down,  watching  the 
horses,  the  hurdygurdies,  the  big  houses, 
and  the  children  who  were  so  different  from 
his   neighbours  on  Perkins  Place.     In  time, 

184 


The  Heart's  Desire 


and  it 
shreds 
forego 

[\  spirit 
;  Place 
entured 

It  was 
1,  for  it 

organ- 
ue  with 
arriages, 
np-posts 

alluring 

Country 
was  he 
but  day 
om  and 
d  off  to 
ndering 
ing   the 
houses, 
nt  from 
n  time, 


when  he  had  explored  all  the  lower  end  of 
his  street  of  enchantment,  he  found  it  pos- 
sible, by  climbing  on  the  backs  of  up-bound 
carriages,  to  reach  the  remoter  parts  of  the 
asphalted  street,  going  sometimes  even  so 
far  as  the  Park,  where  it  seemed  that  miles 
and  miles  of  green  and  growing  things 
stretched  away  into  the  distance. 

But  he  liked  best  of  all  to  stand  on  the 
crowded  sidewalk  and  listen  to  the  women 
with  silk  skirts  rustling  by,  to  smell  the  per- 
fume, and  to  hear  the  clank  of  the  chains  on 
the  carriage  horses  as  they  came  champing 
up  to  the  stone  steps.  He  liked  to  stand 
and  get  whiffs  of  music  from  the  houses  and 
to  see  the  beautiful  beings  all  clad  in  glitter- 
ing things  going  in  and  out.  He  had  a 
weakness,  too,  for  bright  colours  and  flowers, 
and  the  glimmer  of  the  gilt  furniture  through 
some  of  the  big  hotel  windows  filled  him 
with  a  nameless  hunger.  They  certainly 
did  not  have  that  sort  of  thing  down  at 
Perkins  Place,  and  as  the  time  went  on  he 
even  grew  to  think  of  his  home  with  a  cer- 
tain disdain.     His  love  for  the  odorous  livery 

i8S 


■^\l 


1  . ' 


The  Loom  of  Destiny 

stable  which,  with  its  stamping  horses  and 
tall  hansoms  and  men  who  were  always 
washing  down  big  carriages,  had  once  seemed 
a  sort  of  paradise  to  him,  waned  and  finally 
flickered  out  in  his  affections.  He  forgot, 
too,  the  undertaker's  window  with  the  little 
satin-draped  coffin  in  it,  before  which  he 
used  to  stand  by  the  hour  with  wondering 
eyes.  And  when  he  had  once  climbed  up 
the  wide  stone  steps  and  peeked  timidly  into 
the  Cathedral,  dark,  vast,  silent  and  mysteri- 
ous, he  no  longer  sat  opposite  the  little 
Sullivan  Street  Church  and  wondered  why 
people  walked  up  through  its  door,  always  in 
their  best  clothes,  and  with  cold,  set  faces. 

So  Teddie  Sullivan  became  a  sort  of  Buc- 
caneer on  the  city's  high  seas  of  beauty,  and 
went  cruising  up  and  down  the  Avenue  in 
search  of  all  those  sounds  and  sights  in  which 
he  took  such  an  incongruous  delight.  There 
seemed  to  be  a  taint  of  aristocracy  in  his 
slum  blood.  At  many  an  afternoon  reception 
he  was  an  uninvited  guest,  and  quite  often  sat 
on  the  railing  outside  and  dined,  in  fancy,  at 
the  different  restaurants  where  he  saw  the 

i86 


es  and 
always 
seemed 

finally 

forgot, 
he  little 
tiich  he 
jndering 
nbed  up 
idly  into 

mysteri- 
:he   little 
;red  why 
always  in 
^  faces. 

of  Buc- 
lauty,  and 

venue  in 

in  which 

.     There 
y  in  his 
reception 
often  sat 
fancy,  at 
saw   the 


The  Heart's  Desire 

"  swell  guys  "  go.  In  time  he  even  grew  to 
be  fastidious,  for  where  he  could  not  see  car- 
riages and  horses  and  hear  music  he  would 
not  deign  to  attend. 

But  as  summer  came  on  he  found  these 
grew  less  and  less  frequent,  so  one  warm 
afternoon  when  he  found  forty  broughams 
blocking  the  Avenue  and  a  strip  of  red  carpet 
covering  the  pavement,  he  knew  that  the  sea- 
son was  not  yet  altogether  over. 

A  couple  of  policemen  guarded  the  gate- 
way and  two  footmen  stood  on  the  wide 
stone  steps  beside  the  open  doors.  The  low 
buzz  of  talk  and  an  occasional  strain  of 
music  came  from  the  big  cool-looking  house. 
It  was  a  wonderful  scene  to  Teddie,  who 
wormed  his  way  up  toward  the  policemen 
and  stood  by  the  great  stone  gate-pillars,  with 
his  freckled  nose  thrust  through  the  iron  rods 
of  the  fence,  watching  the  shifting  panorama 
with  wistful  and  unwearying  eyes. 

As  the  afternoon  slipped  away  the  crowd 
began  to  come  out  from  the  house.  Three 
times  did  one  of  the  fat  policemen,  who  kept 
guard  at  the  gateway,  pull  the  child  away  by 

187 


The  Loom  of  Destiny 

the  scrufF  of  the  neck  of  his  ragged  little 
coat,  but  each  time  the  intmder  had  edged 
persistently  back.  Now  that  the  guests  were 
coming  from  the  house  the  fat  policeman  did 
not  care  to  keep  up  the  undignified  combat, 
so  Teddie  remained. 

Many  of  the  figures  that  stepped  past  were 
familiar  to  him.  Among  the  last  persons  to 
come  away  was  the  short  man  with  the 
white  whiskers,  who  always  wore  the  gold 
cross  on  his  coat,  and  then  the  tall,  white- 
faced  woman  who  always  rustled  louder  than 
all  the  others,  and  of  whom  the  child  was 
more  or  less  afraid.  Teddie  remembered 
them  all.  Then  a  man  with  a  long  black 
coat  and  boots  that  shone  very  funnily  came 
down  the  steps  walking  with  a  girl  in  white, 
with  lilac-blossoms  and  lorgnettes.  Teddie 
had  not  seen  the  tall  girl  in  white  go  in. 
She  was  a  new  one  !  She  must  have  come 
before  he  did. 

The  freckled  nose  squeezed  further  in 
between  the  iron  bars.  It  was  like  finding  a 
new  friend,  or  discovering  a  new  world,  and 
his  eyes  drank  in  every  detail. 

i88 


ed  little 
d  edged 
sts  were 
man  did 
combat, 

past  were 
ersons  to 
with   the 
the  gold 
ill,  white- 
)uder  than 
child  was 
jmembered 
ong  black 
nnily  came 

in  white, 
Teddie 

;ite  go  in. 
Ihave  come 

further   in 

:e  finding  a 

world,  and 


The  Heart's  Desire 

She  was  the  best  one  yet.  Her  dress  was  the 
whitest  dress  he  had  ever  seen.  Her  hair  was 
brown,  and  her  eyes  were  grey  —  grey  and 
soft  and  kind.  It  was  no  wonder  he  feh  a 
new  and  strange  feeling  run  through  his 
puny  little  body.  Then  and  there  he  tum- 
bled head  over  heels  in  love,  although  he  did 
not  know  it.  She  made  his  heart  thump  as 
only  the  band  and  the  war  pictures  of  the 
Siege  of  Paris  and  dreams  of  Santa  Claus  had 
hitherto  done.  He  guessed  she  was  the  fairy 
that  Bud  Persons'  Sunday-school  teacher 
used  to  talk  about.  On  further  thoughts  he 
decided  she  must  be  the  Angel  in  the  old 
"  Harper's  Magazine "  that  Mar'gut  Mac- 
Dougall  would  let  him  look  through  only  on 
Sundays.  Yes,  that  was  it.  She  was  the 
Angel. 

The  young  man  with  the  black  coat 
pointed  out  the  little  freckled  face  with  his 
walking  stick.     They  both  laughed. 

"  What  an  excruciatingly  dirty  little  devil !  " 
said  the  man. 

The  girl  looked  at  the  child  for  a  moment, 
and  then  came  over  to  him. 

189 


'W 


wss 


!  I 


W"  1^  % 


The  Loom  of  Destiny 

"  What  is  your  name,  my  little  man  ?  " 
she  asked. 

Teddie  was  silent.  He  could  not  have 
spoken  for  every  house  on  the  Avenue.  His 
tono-ue  clove  to  the  roof  of  his  mouth  and  he 
flushed  crimson.  Then  the  Angel  (he  was 
sure  she  was  the  Angel  now)  stooped  down  — 
actually  leaned  down  over  him  until  he  could 
smell  her  flowers.  He  fixed  his  eyes  blankly 
on  them.  He  wriggled  his  bare  toes  in  rhe 
anguish  of  his  embarrassment. 

"I  —  er —  really  — er  —  would  n't  touch 
him,  ycu  know !  "  advised  the  man  in  the 
black  coat.  How  the  child  loathed  the  man 
in  the  black  coat  and  shiny  boots  ! 

The  Angel  only  smiled.  "  Did  I  frighten 
you,  dear  ?  "  she  asked  gently. 

The  bare  toes  wriggled  in  mute  embar- 
rassment. So  the  Angel  sighed,  took  out 
one  of  her  flowers  and  gave  it  to  him,  and 
said  to  the  man,  as  she  turned  to  the  carriage, 
that  there  was  something  fine  in  that  child's 
face.  Teddie  heard  it,  and  would  have  gone 
through  fire  and  water  for  her. 

Before  following  her  the  young    man    in 

190 


[Tian 


? 


19 


jt  have 
e.      His 
I  and  he 
(he  was 
down — ■ 
he  could 
J  blankly 
;s  in  the 

't  touch 
n  in  the 
I  the  man 

I  frighten 

te  embar- 

took  out 

him,  and 

I  carriage, 

lat  child's 

[have  gore 

man   in 


The  Heart's  Desire 

the  black  coat  diplomatically  dropped  a  quar- 
ter into  the  youngster's  hand.  Teddie  was 
thinking  of  other  things,  and  never  knew  it. 
The  last  words  of  the  Angel  went  singing 
through  his  veins.  He  did  not  see  the  fatal 
quarter  until  the  carriage  rolled  out  of  sight 
far  down  the  Avenue.  When  he  beheld  the 
coin,  and  realised  what  had  been  done,  his 
flush  was  even  deeper  than  before.  He  in- 
wardly cursed  the  man  in  the  black  coat. 
She  would  think  he  was  a  beggar.  He  was 
disgraced  in  the  Angel's  eyes. 

When  he  got  back  to  Perkins  Place  he 
secretly  dug  a  hole,  three  feet  deep,  and  in 
the  bottom  of  that  hole  he  put  the  accursed 
quarter.  On  it  he  piled  seven  brickbats 
and  flung  four  old  boots  and  three  empty 
tomato  cans.  Then  he  shovelled  in  stones 
and  earth,  stamping  it  all  down  savagely 
and  vindictively. 

The  flower  he  placed  in  an  empty  castor- 
oil  bottle,  and  watered  it  for  days  with 
infinite  care. 

For  the  rest  of  that  week  his  mind  was 
troubled  with  strange  things.     When  Snifl[ins 

191 


It 


The  Loom  of  Destiny 

came  and  kicked  him,  he  did  not  even  try  to 
kick  him  back  -,  which  conduct  made  SniiBns 
ask  if  he  was  sick. 

A  perceptible  change  crept  over  Teddie. 
His  life  had  flowered  into  its  first  love. 
Night  after  night  he  dreamed  of  Angels  with 
grey  eyes  and  lorgnettes,  and  sometimes  of  a 
man  in  a  long  black  coat.  The  tails  of  this 
coat  in  the  dream  v/ould  always  grow  longer 
and  longe'  and  thinner  and  thinner,  until  the 
man  turned  into  the  Evil  One  and  crawled 
hungrily  up  and  down  Perkins  Place  on  all 
fours,  looking  for  something  he  could  never 
seem  to  find. 

By  day  Teddie  trudged  up  and  down  the 
Avenue  like  one  in  a  dream,  watching  out 
always  for  one  particular  carriage.  Whenever 
this  one  carriage  bowled  past  him,  an  in- 
toxicating tingling  fear  seized  on  his  limbs, 
and  left  him  staring  blankly  after  it  f*ori  the 

curb. 

But  no  sign  could  he  ever  get  from  the 

Angel  as  she  swept  by.     Once  he  even  grew 

so  bold  as  to  climb  up  behind  her  victoria, 

intending  to  show   his  face    over  the   back 

192 


The  Heart's  Desire 


try  to 
niifins 

eddie. 
love. 
is  with 
es  of  a 
of  this 
longer 
ntil  the 
zrawleJ 
;  on  all 
d  never 

)wn  the 
ing  out 
lenever 
an  in- 
limbs, 
,or\  the 

rom  the 
len  grew 
Ivictoria, 
le  back 


and  speak  to  her.  But  a  sudden  terrible 
embarrassmeni:  seized  him  before  he  could 
do  this,  and  in  his  new  sense  of  shame  and 
dread  he  slipped  down  and  dodged  away 
among  the  stream  of  hurrying  carriages. 

He  grew  content  merely  to  watch  her  from 
the  sidewalk,  probably  much  the  same  as 
Ferdinand  once  watched  his  window  in  the 
Florentine  Riccardi. 

So  when  Mar'gut  MacDougall,  without 
previous  warning,  confronted  him  with  a 
new  pair  of  pants  and  declared  he  was  grow- 
ing up  an  idle  young  ignoramus,  and  that  on 
the  next  morning  he  should  start  to  school, 
his  heart  sank  like  lead  and  he  knew  that  he 
and  the  Angel  should  see  each  other  no 
more.  He  said  nothing,  but  slipped  quietly 
out  of  the  house  and  made  his  way  up  the 
Avenue,  with  a  new  fire  in  his  childish  eyes 
and  a  mad  despair  gnawing  at  his  heart. 

The  hours  slipped  away,  but  he  waited  and 
waited,  resolved  that  this  last  time  he  must 
and  should  speak  to  her. 

It  was  late  in  the  afternoon  before  the 
waiting  child  caught  sight  of  her  as  she 
13  193 


1h  ,- 


The  Loom  of  Destiny 

passed  up  the  crowded  thoroughfare  w'thout 
so  much  as  seeing  him.  He  watched  the 
carriage  fade  away  up  the  Avenue,  swallowed 
up  by  the  stream  that  surged  about  it.  A 
sickening  sense  of  loneliness  and  desertion 
overcame  him,  and  a  sudden  gush  of  tears 
welled  to  his  eyes. 

There  was  still  a  chance  that  she  would 
come  back  again,  but  he  knew  the  Angel 
had  forgotten  him.  For  the  first  time  in  his 
childish  life,  waiting  there  A  the  curb  for  the 
Woman  He  Loved,  he  felt  the  wordless 
soul-hunger  of  loneliness. 

She  did  at  last  come  back.  It  was  almost 
dusk  when  the  child  again  caught  sight  of 
her  carriage  sweeping  back  down  the  Avenue. 
She  sat  back  in  the  deep  seat,  seeing  nothing 
and  looking  far  into  the  distance. 

Teddie,  in  a  mad  sort  of  despair,  waved 
at  her  and  then  called  out  to  her.  But  she 
neither  saw  nor  heard. 

Then  a  sudden  thought,  intoxicating  as 
wine,  ran  through  the  child's  mind.  The 
thought  that  he  should  lose  her  for  all  time 
made  life  itself  a  trivial  thing. 

194 


The  Heart's^  Desire 


iiout 
the 
)wed 
A 
irtion 
tears 

would 
Angel 
in  his 
for  the 
ordless 

almost 
ight  of 
venue, 
lothing 

waved 
iBut  she 


^ting   as 
The 
[all  time 


He  watched  his  chance,  dodged  out  among 
the  hurrying  carriages  and  hansoms,  and  de- 
liberately flung  himself  in  front  of  one  bay 
team.     He  shut  his  eyes  and  waited. 

Davis,  the  coachman,  had  been  brought 
over  from  London,  and  Davis  knew  his  busi- 
ness. He  cursed  with  a  good  British  oath, 
and  brought  the  two  bays  around  in  a  sharp 
semicircle  that  swung  the  right-hand  wheels 
completely  off  the  ground.  They  missed  the 
boy  by  three  inches.  Davis  was  on  the  poini 
of  cutting  at  him  with  the  long  coach  whip, 
when  he  caught  the  girl's  eye.  The  Angel 
remembered  him. 

*'  Davis,  help  that  little  boy  into  the  car- 
riage, please,"  she  said  quietly. 

-The  scandalised  Davis  got  down  and 
did  so. 

"  Now  we  *11  drive  this  little  boy  to  his 
home,  Davis,  if  you  please." 

The  child  was  mute,  limp,  and  miserable. 
He  almost  wished  he  was  dead,  for  a  mo- 
ment, until  the  delicious  consciousness  that 
he  was  near  her  fully  dawned  on  him. 

The    Angel   took  hirr.    on   her  knee  and 

195 


i 


'I 


I! 


h^ 


The  Loom  of  Destiny 

looked  for  several  minutes  into  his  blue  eyes. 
Then  she  asked  him,  point-blank,  why  he 
had  done  such  a  thing.  The  child,  who  was 
known  throughout  Perkins  Place  to  be  an  in- 
genious, inveterate,  and  incorrigible  liar,  broke 
down,  and  weeping  repentantly,  wished  he 
really  was  dead,  and  in  the  performance 
completely  ruined  the  Angel's  white  shirt- 
waist. But  the  Angel  was  all  patience,  and 
between  sobs  and  whimpers  he  told  her  the 
whole  story  of  his  love  for  her.  He  talked 
as  he  had  never  talked  before,  and  when  he 
had  nothing  left  to  say  he  sighed  and  looked 
at  her  and  sighed  again.     He  was  happy. 

He  touched  her  with  his  brown  little  fin- 
gers. 

"  My,  I  like  bein'  near  youse  ! "  he  said. 
"  It 's  like  th*  hurdygurdy  !  I  alius  want 
'er  git  right  close  up  to  it  an'  see  where  th' 
soun*  kind  'er  first  comes  frum.  Youse  is 
jus*  like  that !  An'  I  can't  help  it,  youse  is 
so  —  so  much  like  music  !  I  guess  I  'd 
rawer  listen  to  youse  then  th*  music, 
tho'." 

His  arms  slipped  timidly  up  to  her  neck, 

196 


The  Heart's  Desire 


eyes. 
yr   he 
)  was 
in  in- 
broke 
;d   he 
nance 
shirt- 
e,  and 
ler  the 
talked 
hen  he 
looked 

py- 

tie  fin- 
tie  said. 
s   want 
lere  th* 
'ouse  is 
rouse  is 

;ss  rd 

music, 


ler 


neck, 


where  he  let  them  rest  with  intuitive  tender- 
ness. 

It  was  the  strangest  love  confession  ever 
made  to  her.  But  it  was  a  love  confession. 
And  she  was  a  woman. 

She  slipped  her  own  arms  around  the  child 
and  drew  him  close  to  her.  There  had  been 
some  one  else,  once,  who  had  made  the  same 
confession.  And  now  there  came  a  dozen 
every  season,  yet  that  one,  the  real  one, 
seemed  very  long  ago,  and  it  had  been  very 
hard  work  to  keep  from  getting  lonely. 

But  the  sniffing  Davis  had  pulled  up  with 
a  jerk  at  Perkins  Alley.  The  woman  sighed, 
and  the  child's  face  lost  its  light. 

"  Won't  you  kiss  me  good-bye  before  you 
go,  dear  ?  "  ?aid  the  Angel. 

Some  old  portal  of  memory  swung  back 
and  Teddy  kissed  the  girl  on  her  eyes,  as 
some  one  long  ago  —  he  could  not  remember 
who  —  used  to  kiss  him. 

"  Yer  eyes  is  orfully  salty  tastin*,"  said  the 
child. 

The  girl  did  not  answer.  She  was  think- 
ing how  He  had  said  to  her  once,  long  ago  : 

197 


i>ai.,.  J4)W-"!.'l"" 


The  Loom  of  Destiny 

"  See,  dearest,  I  shall  kiss  away  every  salt 
tear,  and  we  shall  be  happy  !  " 

"  Home,  m'm  ?  "  said  Davis  for  the  fourth 
time. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  girl  absent-mindedly. 

Teddie  stood  in  the  gathering  dusk,  listen- 
ing to  the  sound  of  the  wheels  dying  away  in 
the  distance.  He  drew  a  deep  breath.  With 
that  breath  he  took  into  his  childish  nostrils 
all  the  blended,  heavy  odours  of  Perkins  Place. 
Never  before  did  the  awful  hideouness  of  it 
all  so  seem  to  hem  him  in,  and  crush  him 
down  to  some  darker  under-world. 


198 


NOT  IN   UTTER   NAKEDNESS 

Ages  ago  it  seems  to  us, 
O  April,  ere  our  birth, . 

Ages  ago  it  must  have  bten. 
Upon  some  other  earth 

We  knew  Thee,  when  without  regret 
Those  happier  hills  we  trod 

When  by  a  star  or  two  thy  feet 
And  ours  walked  nearer  God. 


?! 

ii 


^1^1'' 

i 

i 

1 

' 

hi 


4 


IT  was  a  warm,  showery  April  day,  with 
little  patches  of  sunlight  every  now  and 
then. 

The  Home  faced  the  Square,  and  in  the 
Square  were  many  trees,  and  in  the  trees 
were  many  sparrows  —  thousands  of  them, 
it  seemed,  and  all  of  them  trying  to  say  that 
Spring  had  come.  There  was  also  a  robin 
or  two  fluting  away  in  their  mellower  con- 
tralto among  the  tall  elms. 

The  air  was  so  soft,  and  it  smelt  so  much 
like  Spring,  that  the  Doctor,  as  he  turned  to 
go  out,  told  the  Nurse  that  there  was  no 
reason  why  the  windows  might  not  be  opened 
and  the  boy  let  sit  up  for  a  while. 

So  the  Nurse  wheeled  the  little  white  bed 
over  beside  the  window  and  opened  the  sash. 
Then  she  made  a  sort  of  nest  of  the  pillows 

201 


u-:^fl' 


r    1 


it 


The  Loom  of  Destiny 

and  blanket,  and  lifted  the  boy  up  into  it. 
This  she  did  with  a  quiet  alacrity,  for  she 
was  used  to  such  things. 

"  I  tell  you,  young  man,  those  are  pretty 
thin  legs  of  yours  !  "  she  said,  not  unkindly, 
as  she  tucked  him  in  for  she  liked  the 
child. 

The  boy  smiled  weakly,  but  did  not 
answer.  Then  the  nurse  gave  him  his 
milk,  with  lime-water  in  it,  and  brushed  his 
scant  yellow  hair  while  he  drank  it.  When 
he  had  finished  she  took  the  glass,  gave  a 
little  touch  to  one  of  the  pillows,  and  hurried 
away,  for  she  had  thirty  other  sick  children 
to  attend  that  morning. 

Bliss  —  from  the  day  he  was  born  they 
had  called  him  Bliss  —  sat  quite  still,  watch- 
ing the  sun  slip  on  and  on  through  soft  grey 
clouds  with  mother-of-pearl  edges.  Then, 
all  of  a  sudden,  it  came  out  full  and  dazzling 
and  golden,  and  lay  in  a  patch  of  glaring 
yellow  across  his  bed.  He  could  feel  it  soak- 
ing in  through  the  blankets.  The  feeling 
was  new  to  him,  and  it  ran  up  through  his 
thin  legs  like  wine. 

202 


to    It. 

ir  she 

pretty 
dndly, 
;d   the 

id    not 

im    his 

hed  his 
When 
gave  a 
hurried 

children 

>rn  they 
watch- 
oft  grey 
Then, 
dazzling 
glaring 
I  it  soak- 
;   feeling 
ough  his 


Not  in  Utter  Nakedness 

On  the  maple  outside  two  or  three  spar- 
rows were  twittering  and  chirping  away  as 
if  tkey  could  never  say  all  the  good  things 
they  had  to  talk  about.  Further  up  the 
Square  a  hurdygurdy  began  to  play.  The 
strong  sunlight  had  made  Bliss'  eyes  droop, 
but  at  the  sound  of  the  hurdygurdy  he  sud- 
denly opened  them.  He  could  not  hear  very 
much  of  the  music,  though  he  strained  his 
ears  painfully  to  catch  the  sounds.  He,  in- 
deed, had  never  thought  hurdygurdies  could 
make  such  beautiful  music.  While  he  sat 
listening  the  Nurse  softly  opened  the  door 
and  glanced  in.  She  saw  the  quiet  smile  on 
the  child's  lips,  and  closed  the  door  again, 
without  speaking. 

Then  the  hurdygurdy  moved  closer  down 
the  Square  and  began  to  play  once  more. 
This  time  he  could  hear  it  quite  plainly.  It 
mixed  with  the  twittering  of  the  sparrows 
and  the  calls  of  the  robins  in  the  elms.  The 
smell  of  the  buds  came  with  it,  too,  and  the 
dust  that  danced  up  and  down  so  busily  in 
the  square  of  golden  sunlight  falling  across 
the  bed  seemed  a  part  of  it. 

203 


ft 


The  Loom  of  Destiny 

How  funny  it  all  seemed,  thought  Bliss ; 
how  funny  and  familiar  and  old. 

He  said  to  himself  that  he  felt  as  if  he 
had  sat  there  for  years  and  years  and  years, 
and  watched  the  same  trees,  and  listened  to 
the  same  birds,  and  heard  the  same  hurdy- 
gurdy.  No  J  it  had  not  been  years,  but  thou- 
sands and  thousands  of  y^^ars.  It  sounded  so 
old,  and  familiar,  and  reminiscent. 

And  the  sunlight  on  the  bed  —  he  won- 
dered where  it  could  have  been  that  he  used 
to  sit  and  watch  the  dust  going  up  and  down 
just  the  same  as  it  was  doing  here.  He 
sniffed  the  air  lazily.  It  smelt  very  nice, 
with  the  perfume  of  the  trees  and  some  sort 
of  blossoms  that  he  could  not  see. 

The  breeze  that  blew  in  at  the  window  in 
little  gusts  swayed  the  white  curtain  and 
made  the  warm  patch  of  sunlight  on  the  bed 
shrink  up,  and  then  grow  bigger  again.  The 
hurdygurdy  went  away,  and  the  birds 
seemed  to  stop  for  a  while,  and  only  a  street 
cry  or  two  came  up  from  the  Square.  Bliss 
believed  that  he  liked  the  quiet  the  best.  It 
seemed  as  if  the  World  had  turned  over,  and 

ao4 


Bliss  *, 

if  he 
years, 
ned  to 
hurdy- 
t  thou- 
ided  so 

e  won- 
he  used 
d  down 
e.  He 
y  nice, 
me  sort 

idow  in 
Lin   and 
Ithe  bed 
The 
birds 
a  street 
Bliss 
>est.     It 
ver,  and 


Not  in  Utter  Nakedness 

then  gone  to  sleep  again.  Something  within 
him,  some  voice  he  had  never  felt  before, 
seemed  to  be  groping  its  way  blindly  up 
from  his  heart,  and  trying  to  express  itself. 
He  wanted  to  say  something  —  to  sing  it  — 
but  he  could  find  no  words  that  would  fit.  He 
felt  suddenly  as  if  he  had  wings,  and  that 
he  could  drift  airily  up  and  down  in  blue 
ether  far  above  the  earth.  He  was  so  happy 
he  felt  that  he  must  sing  as  nobody  had 
ever  sung  in  all  the  world  before.  But  he 
could  find  no  lines  for  the  song,  and  only 
stretched  his  thin  arms  out  helplessly  into 
the  warm  patch  of  yellow  sunlight* 

Then  a  sudden  terrible,  mysterious  loneli- 
ness stole  over  him.  It  seemed  as  if  he  had 
been  alone  all  his  life,  and  that  everything 
was  grey  around  him,  and  that  the  silence 
was  so  beautiful  that  he  dare  not  speak  to 
break  it.  He  wondered  if  he  could  tell  it  all 
to  the  Nurse,  and  if  she  would  understand. 
Then  he  knew  she  would  n't,  because  he 
would  not  know  how  to  begin,  and  it  was 
one  of  those  things  Other  People  never  un- 
derstood.    But  the  birds  were  singing  again 

205 


'TV'     ff* 


I 


1 

!; 

m 

1 
i 

w 

rrfi 


The  Loom  of  Destiny 

outside,  and  away  up  the  Square  another 
hurdygurdy  had  begun  to  play,  and  the 
blind  was  flapping  lazily  to  and  fro  and  let- 
ting the  warm  sunlighi  stream  over  him.  It 
was  all  so  poignantly  lovely  !  The  world  was 
so  strangely  beautiful  I  Life  was  so  unspeak- 
ably sweet ! 

The  Nurse  came  in  on  tiptoe,  for  she  had 
expected  he  would  be  asleep. 

She  slipped  a  clinic  thermometer  under  his 
tongue, and  sat  on  the  bed  looking  into  his  eyes. 

"  How 's  temperature  ?  "  asked  the  Doctor^ 
showing  his  head  at  the  door. 

"  It 's  up  two  points,"  said  the  nurse,  im- 
passively. 

"  H  'm  !  Then  tell  Simpson  not  to  mind 
about  the  operating  table.  Friday  will  be 
soon  enough." 

The  nurse  looked  at  the  child  and  sighed. 
Bliss  was  gazing  far  out  over  the  tree  tops 
at  the  blue  sky.  He  reached  out  his  hand  to 
take  the  Nurse's. 

Without  a  moment's  warning  a  torrent  of 
sudden  tears  burst  from  his  eyes,  and  his 
body  shook  with  a  passionate  sob. 

2c6 


lother 
i  the 
id  let- 
n.  It 
Id  was 
ispeak- 

he  had 

ider  his 
lis  eyes. 
Doctor^ 

irse,  im- 

to  mind 
will  be 

sighed, 
rce  tops 
hand  to 

)rrent  of 
and   his 


Not  in  Utter  Nakedness 

"  Why,  Bliss,  what  is  it^  dear  ?  "  asked  the 
Nurse,  for  never  before  had  the  boy  been 
known  to  do  such  a  thing. 

''I  —  I  —  don't  know  what  it  is !  I  —  i 
am  so  happy,  and  it  is  all  so  funny  —  but  you 
can't  understand,  Nurse.  It 's  inside  here," 
said  the  boy,  putting  his  gaunt  little  hand  over 
his  heart  and  letting  the  tears  rain  down  his 
cheeks  unchecked,  "  an'  if  I  tried  all  my  life 
I  could  never  tell  you,  Nurse.  No,  never  !  *' 
•         •••••• 

"  But  how  is  itf*  asked  the  Young  Artist^ 
as  he  walked  arm-in-arm  across  the  Square 
with  the  Great  Man^  — "  how  is  it  you 
have  done  so  much^  in  one  lifetime?  " 

The  Great  Man  looked  up  at  the  tall  old 
trees.  The  smell  of  Spring  was  very  sweet 
in  the  air, 

"  //  has  not  been  much**  he  said*  "  And 
it  is  such  a  simple  old  story.  A  great  deal 
of  loneliness  ;  a  great  deal  of  hard  work  ; 
a  little  luck,  perhaps;  much  misery;  a 
little  love  ;  a  few  enemies,  and  a  friend  or 
two  /  But  after  all,  it  has  not  been  much. 
As  you  grow  older  you  will  find  that  the 

207 


{^  '! 


I 


The  Loom  of  Destiny 

work  you  want  L  do  is  the  work  you  can 
never  do.  It  is  the  elusive^  the  fugitive^ 
the  intangible  idea  that  you  will  grope  after 
so  blindly  y  and  yet  so  passionately.  And  yet 
you  will  never  quite  capture  it.  The  spirit 
of  it  will  steal  over  you  at  timeSy  at  rare 
moments,  but  it  will  be  more  a  pain  than  a 
pleasure  to  you.  You  will  feel  it  within 
you,  and  the  greater  you  are  the  more  you 
will  feel  it,  and  though  you  try  and  try  all 
your  life  long  to  utter  it,  you  cannot  and 
you  could  not  do  it.    No,  never  I " 


|i        V:. 


308 


r 

you  can 
fugitive, 
ope  after 
Andyet 
'he  spirit 
,  at  rare 
t  than  a 
t  within 
wre  you 
d  try  all 
not  and 


